


La Beauté est dans la rue

by 3levetoi



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Artist Eliott, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, Historical References, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Pining, SKAM, SKAM Season 3, Speakeasies, Strangers to Lovers, secret romance, writer lucas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3levetoi/pseuds/3levetoi
Summary: Lucas Lallement moved to Paris in 1921 to chase his dreams of being France's next greatest literary genius. Five years later, he is stuck in a shitty job and scrapes up hardly enough cash to cover rent each month. Life seems to be beating him dull, until he meets a boy who can show him Paris through fresh eyes.And suddenly there's beauty in the streets again.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant, elu - Relationship
Comments: 39
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is set to the tune of "Il neige" by Voyou
> 
> OKAY ! So kind of a weird concept I guess, but I put a lot of research into it. Lemme just tell you it's going to be a project, but it's also going to be romantic as hell (romantic in the classical, gothic sense) so if that makes you want to hurl, maybe check out something else.
> 
> I started watching Chernobyl and honestly I hate that it's not in Russian. The characters don't even have Russian accents, they're all English and that feel super weird to me so I sprinkled in a few French words/phrases just to remind y'all that they're actually in France.  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Today's Vocabulary List-
> 
> Putain~ fuck  
> Chambre de bonne~ a type of French apartment consisting of a single room in a middle-class house or apartment building. Literally meaning "Maid's room," usually very cheap and very small.  
> Tais-toi~ shut up  
> Salut, les gars~ hey, guys  
> Mec~ man (like "hey, man.")
> 
> ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucas pushed his hands as deep into the pockets of his overcoat as he could. His fingers fiddled with the hole in his left patch. He walked, breathless from the cold and shaking. The sky was one amorphous grey hue giving everything a dull tint. He’d probably assume that he was walking in a colorless photograph if he bothered to look up past his feet. It could’ve been snowing and Lucas wouldn’t have been surprised, it probably _should’ve_ been snowing - maybe even hailing. Paris was vicious. If the cold didn’t kill him, his landlord probably would have. He’d been late on rent nearly every month for a year.

He hurried down the lane with his back arched up so far that his shoulders nearly touched his ears. He sighed, walking into the darkly painted little building, happy to be out of the cold. His hands rubbed themselves together feverishly as he began to feel life in them again. 

“ _Putain_ , it’s cold.” Lucas muttered to himself. 

The first floor was bustling. Desks were crammed together in rows to maximize space and there wasn’t a metre untouched by a stack of paper or a typewriter or some sort of warm body. There were windows lining one wall, but that didn’t allow for much light to enter. By dinner-time the whole office would pile on top of one another just to be able to see their writing. And there were lamps available for use but like everything here, they were as useful as not using them at all.

Lucas took off his coat and draped it over his chair, but he had to squeeze by five people just to get there. 

“Hey Lucas!” Chloé approached him excitedly, 

“Hey."

“I got you a coffee before they ran out,” She handed him a small mug of muddy brown liquid, and prodded “you should really consider getting here on time.” 

Lucas smiled and nudged her, “I’ll ask Mika to start slamming doors a little earlier,” he took the coffee, “Thanks.” The coffee was tepid at best and frankly disgusting, but it was better than nothing, and very kind of Chloé to save him some instead of taking it for herself. They put on one cup of coffee for the whole office and expect it to last, or maybe they have no expectations and that runs about parallel for their amount of concern for the situation. Either way it’s a blessing in this climate. 

She smiled at him, and bounded off to whichever dim little corner she was stationed at.

Yann, his best friend, sat next to him and tried (and failed) to conceal a grin.

_“Tais-toi._ ” 

“I didn’t say anything.” Yann chided, raising his eyebrows.

“You didn’t have to.” 

“You’re right, it’s pretty clear that she’s sweet on you...”

He didn't want to talk about this anymore. He just wanted to work and then leave. Lucas unwrapped the faded length of fabric from around his shoulders that served as a scarf. He was young enough to sport a vest without a tie and get away with it, but those days were soon ending. His clothes were worn as he had been wearing them for six years. There was scarcely a budget for a shopping spree. 

“What’s on for today, boss?” Arthur, who sat in front of him, spun around and rested his chin on the back of his chair. He was tall and spindly, wore rounded lens glasses and had about as much scruff on his face as he would ever have. He had blond hair which he parted down the middle, making his face look perpetually boyish. 

Yann was also a handsome lad, but for entirely different reasons. He wore his hair very short and had the broad shoulders of a man. 

“We have an account of the death of Claude Monet that someone needs to type up- ” 

Yann and Arthur groaned. 

“One of you has to do it.”

“You’re the only one here who knows anything about art!” Arthur whined.

“I know nothing about art, I came here to be a writer, I didn’t know that ‘babysitter’ was also a part of the job but here we are.” Lucas poked, somewhat exasperated. He knew that this lead wasn’t going to be popular, but it needed to get done. He was the head of the culture section of the local newspaper called “ _La Chouette,_ ” the only problem was that none of the people on his team had any notable culture worth speaking of. Arthur and Lucas were field reporters but during the winter months, they tried their best to stay inside. 

This was not what he dreamed of being. He wanted to be one of the greatest authors of his time, like Flaubert or Proust. When he’d arrived here from a small town in the west, he was eager and bursting with ideas. He had so much to say, it felt like there wasn’t enough time in the world to get it all out on paper. Life, for him, seemed to have just begun. He graduated early and at the top of his little school, he then promptly packed up and left almost for Paris immediately. His family wanted him to attend University but he knew that everything he needed to learn was already out in the world, he just had to go find it.

He landed here, got a cheap little _chambre de bonne_ , and thought he was making his way through the world when he landed a writing gig that people would actually read. And here we find him, nearly five years later, in a different little _chambre de bonne,_ with the same, but only slightly improved position and a bitter outlook.

It seemed so far away, the days when he thought that he would leave this place but his name would remain forever on the lips of the rich and the covers of the books which were sold off carts along the Seine. He had long since felt the romance in the air on those cool summer nights with the possibility of new ideas flowing from his fingertips. 

He felt foolish when he thought back to those times. His comment about babysitting his crew had not been entirely false, for his lament had aged him.

“Salut, les gars!” Basile greeted them, taking off his cap to sit down. He was chipper and unruly as usual. Although Lucas had no idea how Basile continued to keep his job, with the intense stress that came along with it, he was thankful that he did. Aside from being a vaguely competent writer, he managed to consistently lift Lucas’ spirits.

“Ah, Bas! We have the perfect lead for you! Right up your alley, you’ll have a blast.” 

Lucas sat back and watched his team bicker playfully about the art piece. They were his closest friends in the world. They were his _only_ friends in the world. He was lucky to have them, because they felt like the only truly meaningful thing in his life.

There was evidence of poverty on all of them. Unlike Lucas, they were all born and raised within the city or a proximate _banlieue_. They didn’t strive to be anything more, if it didn’t involve a raise in pay. 

Happiness, for them, lived only in the moment because thinking about the fact that they would likely live and die with this half solidified coffee in their hands was too large a prospect for this early in the day. It was an unspoken rule between them to never discuss this fact, but nonetheless it hung over their heads - or at least it was something that nagged Lucas constantly. Because unfortunately in this life, paying bills comes before any dreams one could want to chase. 

“Why do I get the art piece??” Basile complained.

“Because you came late.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder.

The day passed slowly. His team had completed more work than they expected but they were still behind their weekly quota. When he stepped out into the daylight, the sky was the same misty color it was ten hours ago when he had arrived. There was still a sharp chill in the air, but the wind had abated. He bade Arthur and Yann a goodnight, while Bas strolled with him down _Boulevard Saint-Marcel_ , babbling incessantly about anything at all. 

“I just think it’s really important that we make your birthday spectacular this year, you know there’s a new club in _Montparnasse_ and I heard from Arthur that he had an absolutely stunning evening there just last month.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Lucas was only half listening when he remembered the small paperback book in his breast pocket. He suddenly remembered his plans. 

“Ah ouais? Oh, you won’t regret this!” He beamed. 

Lucas looked at him, not completely certain what he’d just agreed to.

“This is my street. See you, mec.” Basile bounded off down the little side street, still smiling. 

Lucas scoffed to himself as he watched Basile skip down the lane. Bas was abrasive with his excited energy and sometimes it felt like too much, but the second he was gone it was like there was something missing. 

Lucas continued, taking a turn onto _Quai de Montebello._ Busy wouldn’t be the right word to describe the street, but it was occupied. People everywhere hurried down the way to get out of the frigid cold. It was entirely unlike the summer and spring months when the wanderers came out of hibernation just to marvel at the architecture or smell of the street, or whatever it was that the vagabonds owed it to. It was during these times that the city was really alive, people strolled, books and antiques were sold in stands that sat along the Seine, but now, most street vendors closed up shop, and the drunkards found it easier to berate any passers-by. Lucas was amazed to find Mark-Paul in his usual seat next to his caravan of books. 

The old man folded up last week’s newspaper, shoved it under his arm and huffed as he stood. 

“Ah! Lucas, I was wondering when next I would see you. Did you finish the Gidé?” His tattered black coat nearly touched his ankles and his flat cap had a big brown patch on it. He gave the appearance of being no better off than the younger, despite much more evident happiness. His cheeks were rosie, as was the tip of his stubby nose, making him look very jolly indeed. 

Lucas smiled. “Yes, it was wonderful.” He handed Mark-Paul the paperback, and pulled a copy of today’s news out from the same pocket.The man accepted the two happily.

There were one or two other vending stands open in this row. Lucas felt absolutely terrible for them. At least he could look forward to working in an enclosed building with the warmth of other workers’ anxiety filling the room and warding off the cold. Mark-Paul and the others needed to stay open to eat. 

Lucas wished he had more money so that he could give him some change, but he could offer nothing but the newspaper and last week’s paperback. And Mark-Paul accepted this with pleasure. 

“Yes! The account of a writer always seems to inspire other writers. What will it be today?” 

Lucas blushed, “I would hardly call myself a writer.” 

“Nonsense! I best be seeing my name on the dedication page when I’m peddling your best-seller on my stand!” he chidded in the way that fat, happy, older men do.

“I’ll be sure to do that.” He smiled humbly, wishing for this conversation to end. He mulled through the stacks of new and old books. He was amazed to find that there was hardly a book there that he hadn’t read. 

“Eliott!” Mark-Paul leapt up again from his chair. “Are you here to run me out of business?” He said jokingly.

Lucas looked up to see who he was addressing. The man was considerably taller than him (not that Lucas was a tall man, himself) and appeared to be about his age, but it was difficult to confirm. He had one of those faces that could be seventeen but it could also be breeching thirty. 

“On the contrary, I find that your selection is considerably better than ours.” The man smiled warmly. He spoke with eloquence, a trait that was not often found on these streets. 

Mark-Paul laughed heartily, “Well maybe you could help my friend Lucas here, find what he’s looking for.” 

The man called Eliott peered down at Lucas, who realized that his eyes were widely staring back. Eliott smiled at him to soften the awkward tension and held out a hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Eliott.” 

“Lucas.” He gave a curt nod and pressed his lips into a thin line that read, _I’ll be polite now, but realize that that’s all I’ll be._

Eliott obviously got the hint but shrugged it off. He turned to picked through the spines and said casually, “so, what is it that you like to read?” 

Lucas didn’t need his help. He’d just worked a long day and he didn’t need to fight the condescension of some tourist with wide-eyes, looking to make it big. 

“The classics, mostly.”

“I think you’ve come to the right place for that…” Eliott said, brushing off the dust of an old book as if to be making a joke.

Lucas scoffed. Eliott watched him go through a stack he’d already purused. 

“Classics are great, but there are some real masterpieces being written right now. They’re sure to be future classics.” Eliott paused and then smiled to Lucas, “So, for you it’s like getting ahead of the game I guess.”

_Why is he always smiling?_

“Mark-Paul is the man to go to for the fundamentals, but if you ever want to branch out, I work right over there at Shakespeare and Company, I can help yo-”

“The American bookstore?” Lucas sneered. He couldn’t believe the audacity of this man. He was trying to undersell this poor vendor, and for what? _American_ books? “I’d rather shop here, thanks.” He remarked rather impolitely, turning away from Eliott. 

“I’ll take this one, Mark-Paul. Thanks.” He picked up a copy of _Candide_ , hardly having looked at the cover.

“See you next week, Lucas.” The old man waved.

He could feel Eliott’s eyes on him as he walked away. 

_They probably weren’t smiling now._

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

When Lucas finally got to his room after a very long day, and climbing four flights of stairs, he collapsed head-first on his bed with his book in hand. His stomach was screaming at him to eat, but he didn’t want to move. All he’d eaten today was an apple in the morning, and a few slices of bread in the afternoon. He didn’t want to hear another human’s voice for at least ten hou-

“Lulu, what are we going to do for your birthday this year?” Mika said after twisting the doorknob and entering uninvited. He always did this. 

_He thinks that closed doors are just a suggestion._

“ _Va-t'en_.” Lucas groaned into his mattress. 

“Oh come on! Twenty-three is a very important age in some countries...I think. Plus you could use a night out, you’ve been so grumpy lately!” 

“Can we do this another time please?”

“This is what I’m talking about. You need some stimulation. Where’s that girl you used to bring around?”

Mika dressed well for his standing. He often wore a dark blue vest and a gold (painted) watch in his vest pocket. The color really complimented his dark, wavy hair which he kept long enough to reach past his ears. He looked as though he were almost regal despite being too poor to afford three meals a day. He said that he always acted to dress like "one of Oscar Wilde’s boys” (his words). Mika was completely obsessed with the playwrite. 

He somehow made business of getting wealthy men (with wives), to buy him clothes and food. Lucas never met these men, Mika never brought them home with him, but it was evident in the way he presented himself that someone was spoiling him. Lucas couldn’t imagine how he managed to do so, being as annoying as he was.

“Go away, Mika!” 

“Okay, okay! But we’re discussing this tomorrow.” he turned to leave, “And bring some wine!”

And with that he closed the door behind him. Mika lived next door and made no excuse for his lifestyle. Nor did he have to. Upon moving in, Lucas was happy to meet a friendly face. He’d inquired for flour or an egg or something to cook himself an omelet, as he was out of the ingredient, and he ended up staying in Mika’s company for longer than an hour. He meant well, but he tended to pry anywhere he could. 

_Finally, quiet._

Silence descended on his one-room home. All he could hear were muffled conversations happening somewhere beyond his walls, and his own breathing. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t lonely. How could he long for something as obvious as a girlfriend? It all felt tedious, and he could hardly provide for himself, let alone a family. 

_Maybe I should get a dog._

Lucas sighed. His body was tired, but he couldn’t sleep. 

Something was certainly missing from his life. It was a hole that Voltaire and Dumas could not fill, though they tried.

  
  


__________________________

  
  
  


“Wakey wakey! _Viens_ Lulu!” 

Lucas grunted and rolled over. He weighed his options to stay in bed, the sheet was too soft to leave now. On the other hand, he might be out of a job.

Lucas decided it wasn’t worth it. Mika was still wrapping at the door, he got up, if anything, to silence him. 

He opened the door. Mika was there as though he’d been awake for hours.

“How are you awake? The sun has hardly risen.” 

Mika shrugged, “I’ve got important business to attend to, as usual. And so do you, _dépêche-toi!_ _”_

Lucas couldn’t argue, so he grabbed a rag and went to the bathroom down the hall to wash himself. When he returned, his room felt quieter than usual. It was too early for the daily commotion to have begun outside.

The room was the cheapest in the building, and it was easy to see why. It was outfitted with a single-burner wood stove, a small bed, and a wardrobe. The only source of light besides the candle on the dresser, was the large window that sat above his bed. He had three books stacked on his windowsill, the books he could not bear to part with. All of these were fantastic dramas with no fewer than five-hundred pages, and he owed his curiosity of the human psyche to each of them.

If he needed to, if the building caught fire, all evidence of Lucas ever being there could be wiped away in a minute. Hell, he could sneak away in the middle of the night, and it would have been as though he were never even there. The prospect of this saddened him, and he did not want to think about it today. He just had to get through the next eleven hours and the next thirty-seven he could spend doing whatever he wanted.

Lucas made his way to his work. It was the same chilly walk, with the same cold hurriers passing by. Today was not as cold as it had been yesterday, he was thankful to this. The sky even had a blueish tint today. He arrived in record time, unwrapping himself from his layers and quickly sitting down to get to work. He was the first of his team to arrive today. 

There were a few people mulling about, waiting for the work day to start and recovering from being swiftly woken. This was not an easy place to work. Long hours for mentally exhausting work and little pay, does not make one look forward to a shift. 

“Salut, Lucas!” Chloé waved, shrugging off her shawl, “I was wondering if you would like to have a glass of wine with me at some time this week.”

She really was a lovely girl. Her cheeks were rosey from the cold and it was very endearing but he was not sure that this is what he wanted. On the other hand, he hadn’t gone out with a girl in nearly five months. Maybe it would be nice.

He smiled at her, “I would like that very much.”

Yann, standing in the doorway with a fresh cup of coffee in his hand, and having heard everything chipped in, “Actually, we’re throwing him a secret party for his birthday next week, you should join us,” he smiled and then jokingly leaned in to Chloé, “but don’t tell Lucas.” As though Lucas had not just heard him. 

She giggled in response. Lucas rolled his eyes, about to scold Yann for inviting guests to a party that wasn’t really his when his boss stepped onto the floor.

“Lucas, could you come into my office please.” He ushered. Lucas froze. 

_Oh god,_ he thought, _I can’t lose my job now. Where will I go?_

He felt his heart beating out of his chest. His boss was a stern man in his fifties, who never smiled. This man had been in this job for a very long time, and he looked so. 

“Lucas, I want more pieces about the everyday culture of Paris. People come here for a glimpse of the life and I want you to make it sound absolutely dazzling.” He didn’t look at Lucas once before saying, “Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Fantastic, consider yourself on assignment, I’d like you back by noon and to have it ready to print by three.”

Lucas nodded and left. After the door closed behind him, he let out all the air he’d been holding in. He still had a job. This assignment will be unreasonably difficult considering he had to walk about forty-five minutes just to get out of the lower districts. 

_Okay, I can make this work._

“ _Bof mec_ , you don’t look so good.” Arthur said with a worried look, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, Veron just called me into his office, I thought I’d get fired, but he just asked me on assignment.” 

“Oh phew. Anything I can help with?”

Lucas started to swathe himself back in his scarf, “I left the leads on the desk, there are a few new ones, you might have to conduct an interview. Make sure Bas keeps on his work, for God’s sake! It’s like herding cats with you guys.” 

He set out in the world again, passing Yann to the door. He had no idea where he was going but he’d have to figure it out quickly. Lucas needed to figure out precisely what he would write about, who he would interview, interview them, take concise notes, and be back in four hours. 

_Maybe I could look into the jazz clubs in Montparnasse… They probably won’t be open right now…_

It didn’t help that his boss picked the guy who went out _the least._ He thought about what he would want to do if he had the means. 

_Well that’s easy, I’d write._

His heart sagged when he realized this. He wanted to be on the literary scene so badly. Lucas found himself walking towards the _Quai_. It had gotten warmer as the sun spent more time suspended above the city. He could almost see it through the smoke and mist. Maybe he should try to get put on assignment more often. 

Before he knew what he was doing he was at Mark-Paul’s stand, but no one was attending. Infact, none of the stands were open. He sat himself on a bench trying to figure out his next move. Notre Dame perched itself on the other side of the river like some grand ostentatious beast that stared at him. Surely, this was some sort of cruel metaphor. 

He sighed and got up, not willing to look any longer, when he was met face to face with _Shakespeare & Co. _, the American bookstore that he now despised. The front of it was adorned with dark wood, brightly painted yellow letters above the doorpost and high windows that looked into the place. 

Lucas had nothing to lose, so he went in. The place was truly unlike anything he’d ever seen before. It was wall to ceiling with the colorful spines of hundreds of thousands of books. There were newspaper clippings or framed photographs anywhere there might’ve been an empty space on the wall. He marveled at the collection. 

Despite what little he’d heard of this place, there was a whole section dedicated to the French greats. And only about half of the inventory was in English. 

Suddenly he found himself glancing along the names on the covers. He even peered into the glass frames of some of the portraits. By now, he was ready to eat any less-than-kind word he’d given to this place. The light was dim, which complemented the dark wood and made everything feel more cozy, but it was not too dim that you had to squint to read anything.

There was no sign of the man Lucas had met a few days earlier. He couldn’t tell if he was happy not to see him or secretly disappointed. The girl behind the desk was young and small. She could not have been more than eighteen.

“ _Bonjour, je travaille avec ‘La Chouette,’ puis-je parler à votre manager_?”

The girl behind the desk looked at him bewildered.

He internally sighed, switching to his best English “Can I speak to your manager, please?” 

_Americans._

“Sure thing, just a second.” She disappeared into the back room, allowing Lucas another glance at the hundreds of spectacles along the walls.

He looked into the eyes of an old war general who was posed very imperiously in the daguerreotype on the counter. 

“Ah, it’s you.” That man, _of course_ , came out with a warm smile. It wasn’t I-told-you-so so much as it seemed an I’m-glad-you’re-here. “Voltaire’s not holding your interest?”

Lucas scoffed, slightly embarrassed to be proven wrong, “Actually, I’m here on assignment, I work for the local newspaper. I’m doing a piece on Parisian culture, and Mark-Paul isn’t out today to talk about books… so I came here.”

Eliott looked away, looking for something to say. “Well, he usually opens at about two, that’s about the time I bring him his coffee, so you can try him then.”

“No- It’s alright, I’d actually like to talk to you if you have the time.” 

Eliott’s eyes smiled with the rest of his face. “I have all the time in the world.” 

Lucas smiled sheepishly. Eliott looked different in this light. He wore just a loose white linen shirt, khaki slacks, and navy suspenders. It was very casual. His hair was a mess that looked like it got swept with wind, but it was a managed sort of chaos. He had a very easy, youthful air about him. 

Eliott came out from behind the counter, “Would you like a coffee?” 

“Uh- sure.”

“Great. On-y va.” He grabbed Lucas’ wrist and started to head for the door, before he turned and shouted, in English, “Helen, I’m going on break, I’ll be back in a bit!” 

_Okay, maybe not as condescending as I thought._

The two stumbled out of the building before Eliott even put his jacket on. He started walking down the street, and Lucas struggled to keep up. 

“So the newspaper then, huh? How long have you been there?”

“About five years now.”

“Ah, so you’re a professional. Do you like it?”

Lucas thought for a second. “I like the people… or at least I like my people.”

“But not the work, right?”

“No, I like to write, just not about what they have me writing.”

“Culture? You seem to know quite a bit about it, I don’t see why it shouldn’t be easy for you.” Eliott looked at him. 

It caught Lucas off-guard. Usually he had a witty answer for any situation, but with Eliott it was different. He’d only spoken to the man twice and Eliott had rendered him speechless on more than one occasion. 

Eliott pushed the door open to a little café, and held it for Lucas. 

“I guess I don’t go out often…” Lucas said softly, as though he didn’t really care if Eliott heard it or not. But he did hear it. 

He looked at him again, “We can fix that.” 

Eliott had the remarkable ability to make whomever he was speaking to feel like the most important thing in the world. It seemed, when he looked at someone, he gave his undivided attention. Everything seemed to fascinate him.

Eliott turned to look at the pastries in the case, “Do you know what you would like?”

Lucas almost didn’t hear what he said, he was busy thinking about the effect he had on people. “Hm? Oh, just a coffee for me.”

_“Deux cafés noirs s’il vous plait… et aussi un croissant. Merci, Mademoiselle_.” 

“You didn’t need to pay for me.” Lucas started.

“Don’t worry about it, it will be my treat.” 

“Thank you…” Lucas felt a bit out of place. He hardly knew this guy, and already he was buying him things. It was strange how easily conversation flowed with him. They cornered a table and sat down. Eliott fished out a cigarette and offered one to Lucas but he declined. 

“You don’t mind if I take notes?” Lucas said instead.

“No, so long as you make me famous.” He smiled at his own joke, and lit the end of the stick between his lips.

Lucas snorted, “If you think this will make you famous, then you are sorely mistaken, believe me, I’ve been at it for five years.” 

Eliot blew smoke in amusement.

A woman came by and set a tray with their drinks down in front of them and they both thanked her.

“So you want to be famous then?” Eliott said, stirring a sugar cube into his cup. 

“I’m supposed to be interviewing you, remember?” He smiled, “How long have you lived in Paris?”

“Since summer.” He exhaled smoke and looked directly at him. 

“And would you say that you got acclimated pretty well?”

“Yes, I _would_ say that.” He joked subtly. The way he held the cigarette between his fingers was so nonchalant and dignified, as though the smoking snout wasn’t there until he wished it to be so. 

“I’m surprised that you found housing and got work so quickly. Do you have relations in Paris?”

“That seems more of a personal question than a cultural, but no, I’m a tumbleweed.” Eliott started to pick at his croissant.

“Excuse me?”

“A tumbleweed? Someone who is accepted to live above the Shakespeare & Company in return for work and a bit of art… It’s a whole program. Unfortunately there is no minimum for spoken French requirement, which can be troubling... as you likely noticed. But there are four of us right now.”

“You came here to be a writer?” Lucas asked quietly.

“I came here to do art and learn. Whatever that may mean.” Eliott thought for a second, before taking a sip of his drink. Lucas watched him. His motions were deliberate and graceful despite his somewhat lanky frame. “I wanted to be where the people were. I’d read nearly every book in my town’s library, I felt as though it was my turn to be the one living it.“ 

Lucas felt these words deeply as he heard them. It must have been relatively universal, these feelings of dissatisfaction he had. There was a time when he thought that maybe he was meant to be unhappy, but it gave him hope to see someone who shared his sentiments.

“Plus the artistic minds here are unlike anywhere else.” Eliott continued, “Music, art, literature, it all happens here. We are the center of the first world. And now, there is a renaissance happening on the Left Bank, I wanted to be a part of it if I could. ”

“What kind of renaissance?”

Eliott eyed him, surprised at his question, “I am convinced that you are not of this planet.” His face softened into a knowing expression as he leaned forward in his seat, close enough to lower his voice and still be heard by Lucas, “It appears I have something more to show you. Do you have the time tonight?” He said it as though it were the only logical step to be taken.

Lucas nodded excitedly, and then kicked himself mentally, for seeming eager. 

Eliott glanced at his watch, and put out his cigarette.

“It seems as though I must return to work. See you, Lucas.” Eliott got up and clapped gently his hand on Lucas' shoulder as he passed him to leave.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the tune of "Wild Machines" by Sleepy Sun
> 
> Today's Vocabulary List-
> 
> Va-t'en~ go away  
> Viens~ come (on)  
> dépêche-toi~ hurry up  
> mec~ man/mate (i.e. hey, man)  
> On-y va~ let's go


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite long! Sorry !! I hope you like it anyways. 
> 
> Next will likely be saucy. 
> 
> Today's Vocabulary~
> 
> Quel génie - What a genius !  
> Viens - come (on)  
> Patron - Boss  
> Attends - wait!  
> Tu Verras - you will see  
> Ouais - yeah  
> je vois - I see  
> “... et il pense que je suis l’homme qui peut t’aider.” - "... and he thinks that I am the man who can help you."  
> “Et es-tu?” - "And, are you?"  
> “Oui, si tu veux.” - "Yes, If you'd like."  
> “Il est fou, celui-là.” - "He's crazy, that one."
> 
> _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucas walked slowly back to his workplace. He would be a bit late, but it didn’t matter. He almost didn’t want to go back. His mind burned at the thought of where Eliott could possibly take him. Lucas was intrigued by him. This city had not broken his spirit yet and it was refreshing. 

When he finally arrived at _La Chouette_ , he realized most of his notes were focused around the man himself and not the culture that he surrounded himself with. Upon further thought, he realized he might be able to make an entire series out of this if what Eliott had planned for him this evening, was of any importance. 

“Hé! Lucas is back! This morning was an utter drag with your absence.” Basile beamed. 

“And by that, he means that there was no one to listen to his ramblings and tell him to get back to work.” Arthur chided.

It was really fascinating how everyone fell into different roles in the group. Basile worked like a puppy, he held focus for maybe fifteen minutes at a time before he went off on some unrelated tangent. He was completely governed by emotions and that sometimes took over his life. He found it difficult to find friendship, but what’s more is that he found it difficult to find women. ‘ _Le Gang,’_ as he so called their little clique, heard about it often. 

“You’re here! Yann’s right there!”

“Yeah, but we’re too kind to put you on track.”

Arthur was different. He was social and happy, and very content to entertain any sort of distraction from his work that Bas might offer him. He could make friends with absolutely anyone if he so wanted. 

  
  


“Ah, but I’m the right fit for the job, is that it?” Lucas joked back. 

“A joke! Why are you in such a good mood?” Yann smiled. 

Yann was something else entirely. He was very wise for his age and willing to listen to any problem one might have (unless it was obviously a question of procrastination as were most of the issues Basile complained about). Not to say that he didn’t have a sense of humor, he was very funny when in the comfort of his friends, and very loyal should someone aim malicious words towards them. 

Lucas tried to wipe the grin off his face, “‘s been a good morning, that’s all.” He sat himself down, as his friends watched and waited for the news. 

“I think I found a possible series for the paper I could start.”

“Quel génie! What about?” 

“An American bookstore on the Quai. It’s really beautiful, and there’s this whole program where they take in aspiring artists and give them housing in return for a bit of work, and they can basically do as they please.”

“A bookstore? Viens Lucas, you know that Bas can’t read!” 

“What! I literally work at a newspaper press! And you sit next to me no less, so then what does that make you?” 

“Hush, Bas, can’t you see it’s Lucas’ turn to talk?” Arthur often pushed at him like this. Lucas really couldn’t take them anywhere, but he was happy to have them in his life. 

He talked for a bit longer about the place he had just discovered, before sitting down to get to work. His fingers flew easily across the keys of the typewriter, as this was a story that genuinely interested him. But his mind wandered back to Eliott. 

A part of him was nervous for their meeting. Eliott seemed to be a guy that he wanted to impress, although he couldn’t decide why. Eliott seemed to care for nothing else when Lucas opened his mouth. Plus, Lucas had lived longer in Paris and had a job relating to his primary interests. But Eliott seemed somehow freer, and more curious. He was more like a wonderstruck child with the age of an adult. Lucas envied this in him. 

The story was finished in record time. He brought it to the _patron,_ who’s eyes shifted over it with ease. 

“This is very good work, Lucas.” The older man said firmly, still not looking at Lucas.

Pride swelled within him, he couldn’t help but smile a bit. “I’m going back this evening after work to see if there’s enough material to start a series on Parisian modern culture. Would you sign off on something like that, should it be possible?”

“If it comes out like this, I would sign off on anything you gave me. I’ll work with the photographer to get a decent image for this section. May I have the address of the store?” 

“Certainly,” Lucas beamed. 

  
  
  


**________________________**

  
  
  


It was on days like these, when Lucas was proud to call himself an aspiring writer. For the first time in what felt like months, he was proud of the work that he’d out his name on. 

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. When it came time to go home, Lucas was among the first to spring up, and shove his arm through the sleeves of his overcoat. He started to head for the door.

“Lucas, _attends_ _!_ ” Bas shouted. Lucas stopped and turned around, hardly having realized his abrupt exit.

“We’re going for a beer, right?” 

“No, sorry, I have plans.”

Yann eyed him suspiciously. He _never_ had plans.

“Oh come on! We go out every week, it’s basically mandatory.” Bas tried.

“It’s not mandatory.” Yann said to Bas, then turned to Lucas, “have a good evening.”

“I’ll be there next week, I promise.” Lucas sweared, but he had already left. 

“He better be here next week, it’s his fucking party.” Yann mumbled, watching Lucas sprint down the road. 

Lucas slowed down a block or two before he got there. He didn’t want to give off the impression that he ran to get there, (which he did,) or that he was eager, (which he was,) or that he had been looking forward to this all afternoon, (which he had). 

Once his breath had finally slowed, he approached the bookshop. Eliott studiously leant himself against the door post and smiled when he saw Lucas.

Elliot is one of quiet intensity. He smiles with his whole body. It seems that when his focussed gaze sets itself onto Lucas, it sucks the air right out of his lungs. He can’t describe it, but he tries to in his head. Eliott is just one of those guys whose presence seems always felt. 

“Ready?” 

“Yes.” 

His palms were sweaty in his gloves despite the cold. Lucas was nervous. Why was he nervous? They were walking together but neither said anything. Lucas wanted to fill the silence but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound stupid if he said it out loud. 

Eliott kept looking up. He was focused on the architecture. The tension that Lucas felt didn’t seem to reach Eliott. He must’ve been overreacting. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Eliott finally said, referring to the classic Parisian architecture.

“Yeah…”

He looked down at Lucas and smiled, “You don’t have to be nervous. I wouldn’t take you anywhere you wouldn’t want to go.”

Lucas let his shoulders relax. “Where are we going?”

Eliott made sure to gain eye contact before he cocked his eyebrow mischievously and ultimately ignored the question with a simple “ _tu verras_.”

Lucas scoffed in amusement. _Relax,_ he said to himself, _this is an adventure, we’re on an adventure._

But it was not the location or even the destination he feared so much as the man guiding him. Lucas felt older next to him, but not in a pleasant way. 

When Lucas had first moved to Paris, he’d spent hours and hours every week strolling down new paths, just to see what he could find. And there was always something new waiting for him. But after about a year, he’d become more of a homebody. 

They walked for about forty minutes before arriving at a shoddy little church. It was nothing to marvel at. Each brick had the same dull color, and it had one bell tower on the end but that was about the most fascinating thing about it. 

_He is not taking me to church services on my night off._

Eliott glanced once again at the writer, as though he were waiting for him to understand a joke… of which Lucas apparently did not.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Eliott rolled his eyes exasperatedly and grabbed his hand with a quiet “ _viens.”_

Inside the church was not much different. There was a choir practicing in some unknown corner of the main room, one could easily hear the tones vibrate off of the walls, but their origins were not so easily placed. It was lovely nonetheless. 

_The Phantom Nuns’ Choir is at it again,_ he mused to himself.

It had the classic gothic flying buttress on the east end, and a high concave ceiling. It was dark, but with dim torches along the lower parts of the wall, so that the higher one looked, the darker it felt. It was beautiful as far as Paris churches go, but Lucas could not configure the significance. 

Eliott tugged him to a little alcove in the corner. 

“Do you know who was buried here?” 

It was an unceremonious little setup. The late afternoon sun streamed in through the adjacent windows, making it even more difficult to read the little plaque on the opposite wall. Lucas squinted.

Lucas’ eyes went wide, “Descartes!?”

Eliott nodded, smiling that he finally got the joke. 

“But- why is he here? Why isn’t he in the Pantheon or something?” 

“Well his head is at the Musée de l’homme… and he was only buried here with nine of his fingers… so technically he’s not all here. But apparently he wasn’t too fond of the idea of the Pantheon.”

Lucas looked at the man with amazement. Descartes was an integral part of Lucas’ adolescence. There was a point where he’d idolized the man’s writings. He had so many questions. How could Eliott have possibly known he was here? Why is he here? Where are his fingers?

Eliott grinned as he watched a wheel of emotions spin across Lucas’ face. 

“According to legend, his body was moved multiple times since his death a couple hundred years ago, his skull was almost swept out to sea ten years ago with the flood… But his finger… It's rumored that upon transporting the body, someone stole his finger as a keepsake to perform seances. People have stolen his body parts so many times, they couldn’t keep enough record of it. All I know is that Descartes is _not_ happy with the handling of his remains.” 

“What, you believe in ghosts?” Lucas looked at him with doubted eyes. 

Eliott looked at him smiling playfully, about to deliver the punchline he’d been sitting on since they’d arrived. “Of course I do. ‘If one is skeptical of existence, that is in and of itself proof that it does exist,’ right?” 

Lucas huffed with amusement, “Ah ouais _je vois_ , and I think, therefore you are stupid.” 

Eliott laughed. “Yeah, okay, that was bad.” 

They stood for a second, marvelling at the mastermind that laid himself somewhere before them. This _was_ a special place. Ordinary to most, who don’t know the secret or don’t care to look. Lucas realized he was one of them. He wondered how many other deceiving places he’d walked past without a second glance. 

And somehow the fact that the tomb wasn’t adorned in ornament made it that much more holy to him. It was quiet and unobtrusive. 

The choir had not yet made it’s Coda, and they stayed for a bit longer until it had. The moment would have felt unfinished had they walked out sooner. When they did finally walk out, Lucas felt as though he had just woken up from a decent night’s sleep. 

They started down the way. Lucas followed despite the two walking side-by-side. Now, the silence felt peaceful.

“Do you have a while longer?” Eliott asked, almost at a whisper. 

_For you, I have all the time in the world_ , he wanted to say, throwing Eliott’s own words back at him. But he thought it might be poorly received, so instead he went with, “I have all night.” 

Eliott smiled. 

“How did you find it?” 

Eliott shrugged, “I asked.” 

Lucas, for a moment, thought his question stupid, but Eliott’s answer had not been curt, it was more inquisitive than anything. And thus, Lucas felt as though Paris was no longer his city. It was owned by the romantics and the poets who dared to ask stupid questions in the hopes of getting an answer. It sorrowed him slightly, but it also meant there was more to discover than what he had. 

They turned the corner and Eliott’s eyes lit up. Without so much as a glance to Lucas, Eliott took off in a sprint towards a corner café. Lucas lagged behind him, feeling no need to break into a run, pushing past the maitre’d which Eliott had dashed past with a “ _pardon_.”

He found Eliott, having already sat down in the corner across from a man. Lucas approached the two, cutting off their introductions. 

The man wore a thick coat with a fur collar. He had a bit of stubble on his face and he looked foreign, although his hair was slicked back like most French men with money to spend on hair grease. He had a few stacks of papers spread out on the little table in front of him.

“Ah, who’s this?” The man said in English.

Eliott tilted his head back on his neck to look up at Lucas standing over him. It was a small motion, but he supposed it was the way that Eliott looked at him that made the blood drain from his face. 

He returned to his conversation, not taking his eyes off of Lucas until the last possible second. It seemed, to him, as if time had slowed somehow.

“This is my friend, Lucas.” He said with a heavy French accent.

The man looked up to Lucas, “Nice to meet you, Lucas. Would you like to pull up a seat?” 

He hardly registered that he’d just been asked a question before Eliott extended his arm to pull an unused neighboring chair to their table. He patted the seat, gesturing for Lucas to sit down. 

“Lucas, I would like you to meet Ernest euh Hemingway.” Eliott paused, turning again to Lucas, “he is American which is the reason it is difficult for me to say his name.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Lucas cringed at his own accent. He’d spent years learning English but this is the first time he’d ever used it towards a native English speaker. Plus, he was a little rusty. 

“Lucas is a writer.” Eliott smiled.

“Really!" The man turned to Lucas, "What do you find yourself writing about?”

It was terrifying to have the spotlight put onto him in a split second. The man wore an expecting expression, as if the next words he heard must be fascinating otherwise he would lose interest.

“Oh no, I-I work with the newspaper, I am not an author.” Lucas was uncomfortable. He didn’t like to talk about himself, and he didn’t know who this man was.

“The way I see it, if you write, you are a writer.” Hemingway chuckled into his drink. 

“He writes about culture in Paris, and I thought that you might know something about that.” Eliott spoke up.

Hemingway laughed heartily, “So, you come to the American for knowledge of France! How long have you been here, my boy?” He looked at Lucas.

“Six years.”

The author looked at him with interest, “How interesting. What you need is a fresh pair of eyes! You’ve been walking these streets for years, they must all look the same to you. Good thing you have this young man to help you rediscover it.” He said, nodding towards Eliott. 

Lucas looked to his friend for translation, to which Eliott did his best. 

“... et il pense que je suis l’homme qui peut t’aider.” 

Lucas beamed at him for a second. That was precisely what he needed put into so few words. 

“Et es-tu?” Lucas found himself saying, relaxing a little.

Eliott looked at him warmly for a moment, then whispered earnestly, “Oui, si tu veux.” 

Neither noticed Hemingway sitting back in his chair, watching the whole thing unfold, and musing to himself with a drunken smile. 

Lucas looked for another second before snapping back to reality, and turning back to the old man.

“So, you are also a writer?”

“He is one of the best modern American authors!”

Hemingway laughed again, “Yes, but I must not be so great if you have not heard of me.”

“I am sorry, but my English is not so good to read.” Lucas offered apologetically. 

There was a brief pause.

“Well, if you would like something to write about, you should join us for a drink. Your friend here evidently knows where to find me.”

Eliott ginned humbly, “How is your wife doing?” 

“She wants a divorce.” Hemingway smiled, finishing his drink.

He said this as if it were a joke. “So is the way of the vagrant!” 

And with that, Hemingway gathered his things made his farewells, and strolled off into the city. 

“Il est fou, celui-là.” Eliott laughed, “you ready?”

Lucas nodded. The two left the café. There was a chill when they got out into the open, even though the sun hung partially in the sky. Had the clouds been less heavy, there might’ve been some color. Lucas felt himself shiver. 

“There’s just one last stop and I’ll let you go.”

“Oh, you’ll _let_ me go, will you?” 

There was a certain comfort he felt now with Eliott. He still wanted Eliott to find him interesting, but it seemed as though Eliott found everything interesting, and yet Lucas didn’t have to compete. There was a complete easiness about him. 

They strolled for a little while talking about nothing and everything, as though they’d been close friends for years. The streetlamps illuminated, lighting the way as they walked. Soon enough, Eliott led them off the mainroad to a door, where he pulled out his key and unlocked it, holding it for Lucas behind him.

“Would you like to come in?”

Lucas blinked for a second. 

_What?_

He didn’t know what he was walking into when he pushed past the door. Ahead of him laid a sharp, narrow staircase, that would lead him to some sort of unknown territory. 

_This is it_ , he thought. He knew Eliott was too friendly. But instead of a swift blow to the head, what waited for him at the top of the first flight of stairs, upon unlocking the entrance, was a single room with a couch, an easel, a bookshelf with various books and painting supplies, and to massive windows along the side of the far wall. There were canvasses everywhere. Somewhere covered by a towel, and some were not. Of the ones he could see, many were portraits or scenes of people that Lucas had never seen before. 

“Are these yours?” Lucas examined the one that sat on the easel. It was splashed with dark, brooding colors, with a partial chest and neck of a man in the foreground, but his face had been scribbled over. 

“Yes.” Eliott replied, busy looking for something on the shelves. 

“You didn’t tell me you could paint.”

Eliott made a noise signifying that he’d found what he was looking for, and then came over to him.

“You didn’t ask.” Eliott smiled. He handed him a book, “Let me know what you think?”

Lucas looked down at it. _The Sun Also Rises_ written by Ernest Hemingway.

“I made note where the English is difficult, so you should be able to get through it.”

Lucas turned the book over to grace the back. He didn’t even notice the knock at the door. Lucas turned around to find Eliott embracing a woman in the doorway. After a brief moment, the two began kissing passionately, as though Lucas was not even there. 

He felt awkward and out of place in that moment, like perhaps he should just slip passed them and head home. But his thoughts were interrupted when the couple pulled themselves apart, still holding hands.

“Lucas, this is Lucille. Lucille, Lucas. I was showing him around. He’s a writer!”

She looked at him with an interested expression, “Oh, are you new?” 

Lucas shook his head, “No, I just don’t leave the house much.” He smiled politely and then turned to his friend, “Well, I should probably head home. Thank you for a memorable evening.” 

He meant that. Oh _god,_ how he meant that.

“Absolutely. We should do this again sometime. Would you like me to walk you home? It’s gotten kind of dark.”

“That won’t be necessary. Nice to meet you, Lucille.”

Lucas quickly squeezed past them, and set off into the night. As he walked, he played the events of that evening in his head. 

The walk home seemed farther than it was before.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OoOoOh it's getting interesting. Let me know what you think ! I love reading your comments !
> 
> Today's vocabulary~
> 
> hein - huh  
> "Merci, mec. C’est cool." - thanks, man. that's cool.  
> de rien - no problem/you're welcome  
> c'est chaud - (theres not a great translation that doesn't sound dorky) it's bumping or it's exciting (sort of)  
> Joyeux Anniversaire - Happy birthday  
> Coucou - hey/hi  
> "je suis..." - I am  
> Enchantée - Nice to meet you  
> “On-y va?” - "Shall we?"
> 
> _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucas didn’t get out of bed until nearly noon the next day, despite that he had woken with the sun. He sat up in bed and didn’t get up until he read every page between the two covers of the book Eliott had given him the night before. 

It was hard for Lucas to not identify with Jake Barnes, the main character and the man who was left sexually debilitated after a war injury. Not that Lucas had any problems regarding sex, but sometimes he felt as though he had already peaked at some point during his youth and the rest of his life would be downhill from there. Each of the characters seemed that they were looking for a happiness that they knew they would never find, as though never satisfied by this life but looking for a quick fix all the same. It seemed like a cautionary tale that Lucas was living.

There were bits he couldn’t translate, but overall the vocabulary was relatively easy, especially with what was occasionally penciled into the margins. Aside from a few definitions between languages, Eliott had also left him his own ideas about the symbolism throughout and any epiphanies he might have had. 

It was like he was there, discussing the book with him. 

_Eliott._

He’d hardly thought about him since he got home. The evening really had been the best he’d had in his recent memory, but of course, it was soured. It’s amazing how someone could make him feel so utterly at home, and in one swift moment, make him feel like an outsider. Lucas couldn’t even really pinpoint why he felt this way. It wasn’t as though his friendship came with the price of cutting any romantic interest. He didn’t expect anything from Eliott. His gaze just felt good to Lucas, and he was unhappy to share it. 

He sighed as he got up to wash himself. Mika stood in the hallway, leaning on Lisa’s doorpost and chatting. Lucas knew he was about to be targeted for conversation.

“Hé! Bonjour, Lulu. You look like you got home late. Anything I should know about?”

“No... Just went to a jazz club with some friends, no big deal.” 

“You? Clubs?” Mika laughed, “It seems that our Lucas has turned a new leaf! And a far more interesting one, at that.” 

Lucas rolled his eyes. 

“Wait, Lucas went out without us?” Lisa piped up. 

“Don’t you worry, my dear, we are taking him out this coming week for his birthday.” 

He had totally forgotten about it. It wasn’t usually his scene, but it was nice on occasion. 

“Can I go wash myself now?” Lucas whined, interrupting their new conversation. 

“Yes, go. You're reeking up the hallway.” 

Lucas hurried down the hall to the washroom. When he returned from the most relaxing bath of his life, he realized that there was nothing that was required being done. He had all afternoon to do whatever he wanted! And what he wanted to do, was write. 

He set himself up sitting on the floor against the side of his bed. Papers spread themselves in stacks. His dinky little room didn’t allow for much clutter, but he didn’t want to go to a café because he knew that then he’d realize how much better it was and make a habit out of buying 20 centime coffees every time. And whatsmore it was his territory. There were no surprises, and no distractions. Someone was playing violin on the street below, but it turned out to be quite alleviating. Even Mika could not be heard from down the hall. 

Lucas put his pen to paper and started to sketch out some basic ideas, but he found his mind drifting to last night. He had so many questions for Eliott’s author friend about his writing, and his characters and just any words he could impose on him. 

Hemingway was everything he wanted to be; a traveller who could make himself comfortable with his work and his following anywhere he went. Lucas desperately wanted to discuss the book with someone, maybe then he could further grasp the makings of his own.

But the only one he knew who shared interest in this particular book was Eliott. And Eliott- well...Lucas didn’t know where he stood with him. He was a total enigma.

He ended up writing about the events of last evening, just notes so that work tomorrow would be easier. Arranging the order of events made it easier to comprehend in his head. He could write about how there was a whole underbelly to Paris that most people didn’t know about.

_How romantic a thought, that the culture of the poor writes the culture of Paris._

  
  
  


Working was easier for him that week, than perhaps it had ever been. Lucas sat at his typewriter and wrote until he was finished. While he might’ve normally needed a break or to take a quick walk to clear his head, now the words came to him easily and enthusiastically. He, of course, left out some of the more intimate details of his experience, but he wrote about Hemingway and began to polish a piece for later about the American bookstore. His boss was thrilled at the progress. 

“Hey, Lucas, relax. I’ve never seen you work so hard in all the time I’ve been here.”

“Well, you know, it helps when I don’t have to baby you lot every time I look up.” 

Yann smiled.

“Veron’s got you on heavy assignment, _hein_? C’mon it’s time for lunch break.” The four of them started to put their coats on. 

“Yeah, it’s turned into a bigger project than either of us first expected.” 

“I guess that’s why he gave us the boring leads then.” Arthur nudged Bas. 

They usually occupied the curb just outside the building during this time. There, most of the reporters were having a smoke or picking at some subpar meal they prepared for themselves. 

“You ready for your party tomorrow night? I know that I am! I can’t wait to see this place. Maybe take home a nice broad.” Basile rambled in Lucas’ direction. 

“And what would your mother say about that? She’d follow you down the aisle with a broomstick waiting if you tried to run.”

Basile paused for a second, “I wouldn’t be opposed. Where d’you think is a nice place to get married this time of year?” 

The boys laughed.

“Of course you wouldn’t mind!” Arthur chuckled.

Lucas turned his head when he noticed a figure walk up and stand over him. 

“Salut, Lucas.”

It was him. There he was. _Smiling._

“Salut…” Lucas pressed his lips into a straight line, “can I help you?” 

Eliott licked his lips not knowing what to say. He was a bit taken aback at this response. He looked at the other guys, who subsequently stared back at him. 

“Bah… You left this behind last week, I thought I’d return it.” Eliott pulled Lucas’ ratty scarf out of his pocket and handed it to him. 

“ _Merci, mec. C’est cool_.” 

Eliott glanced at him. He looked confused as to why Lucas was being cold to him. And Lucas, in turn, was confused as to why Eliott _wasn’t_ being cold to him. He could live without Eliott, that was clear.

“ _De rien, mec_ … I’ll see you around…” He said waiting another moment before turning and leaving.

Lucas couldn’t believe that Eliott came _to him_. It felt strange and wrong, like two aspects of himself that were never supposed to meet. He couldn’t really explain it. 

“Who was that?”

“No one.” Lucas couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away until Eliott was totally out of sight, “it was no one. Some guy from the bookstore.”

Arthur and Basile looked at each other.

“He seemed nice.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Lucas shoved the scarf in his pocket. There was an awkward tension.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow night?” Yann asked.

  
  
  


___________________

  
  
  


The air had grown chilly but it was forgotten upon stepping into the club. It was a dinky little place, with red satin framing the less-than-pristine grey brick walls. Carpets lined the floors and chairs lined the edges. Very dim lights adorned the walls, save the stage which was highly illuminated. There was hardly a place to sit, but with the bodies sweaty and turning to the rhythm, it hardly mattered. An implacable smell, which was rather unpleasant, wafted around the main room but nothing they couldn’t handle. The band played a fast-paced, walking beat, that would send anyone into a tizzy. It was complete with horns, bass, piano, and even a guitar. They could feel the music reverberating off the walls, and the steps of those dancing shake the ground.

“Ah putain, c’est chaud, non?” Arthur smiled at the view. 

Basile sprang forward into to find his place on the dance floor. He danced like an idiot, but what did he care?

Yann led Lucas to the bar where he bought him a drink. Lucas tried to refuse, he knew that Yann was on a tight budget, but he would hear none of it. 

“Joyeux Anniversaire, mec.” 

Lucas grinned, “thank you.” He felt alive in here, with his closest friends in the world. 

The place was filled to the brim with young folk. Lucas saw Mika and Lisa, and a few others he knew. It was likely that most of the people in this room were friends of friends. But that was a bit hard to swallow considering the rowdy nature of those before him.

There were vulgar displays of drunken lust that were taking place in corners and on some tables, while snow was being snorted on others. All in all, it was a poor man’s madhouse where one might forget his troubles for a night. Lucas had no doubt that more was offered in the back rooms.

He was halfway through his Old Fashioned, when Chloé made her way to where he stood.

“Coucou, Lucas. It’s nice, right?” She was wearing her most fashion forward party dress, and had her hair done up as though this were a very important night. And it probably was. 

“Yes, this is crazy! Are you having a good time?” He smiled down at her.

She nodded ecstatically. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” Lucas shouted over the noise.

Chloé beamed, “I would love that, thank you.” 

They talked for a little while. But what Lucas could make out over the music was nothing terribly interesting. At some point he asked her what kind of books were her favorites, to make some sort of conversation. 

Her eyes lit up with excitement, “Oh, I just adore the classic works! You know, Dumas, Voltaire, they’re utterly fascinating! And you? What do you read?”

“I really enjoy American authors. Have you heard of Pound or Hemingway?”

She shook her head. He watched the band somewhat disinterested in their talk. 

“That’s a shame, you would really like their writing.” 

“I’ll have to look into that.” She said sweetly, trying desperately to continue the talk.

They stood for a second, not knowing what to say before Lucas offered Chloé to dance with him, to which she vehemently accepted. They found themselves in the middle of the fuss, dancing and moving like the others. It was all good fun, but Lucas couldn’t help but look over the crowd and find Eliott and that woman making their way into the sea of dancers. 

His heartbeat quickened as they approached him. Eliott leaned his arm across the shoulders of his girl, and he looked at Lucas with focused interest, as if to try to determine his mood before he spoke. 

“Salut, mec.” He said, expression unchanging. His hair was slicked back suavely, and he was sporting a dark blue blazer that was a few sizes too big, but suited him handsomely.

“Bah, salut, je suis Chloé. Enchantée.” She offered her hand to the couple when she noticed that Lucas was not going to say anything. Instead, he kept his eyes on Eliott, and Eliott kept his eyes on him with a dark sort of look on his face. 

“Et je suis Lucille.” she smiled politely, before turning to Eliott, “ _On-y va?_ ”

He nodded once in agreement to her before the two sauntered off to get closer to the music. Lucas immediately felt underdressed for this occasion, and cursed himself for not striving to look nicer. He could’ve borrowed one of Mika’s suits and he would’ve looked only slightly precarious trying to fill it. 

He was on his third drink when he realized that the room around him was spinning, granted those drinks had been very _strong_ . Or that’s what he told himself at least… Either way, everything started to blur into the scenery. Chloé was still dancing close to him. He felt her hand grip his as she raised it, and twirled beneath it. She was pretty. _Pretty._ The word felt weird in his mouth. Everything felt weird in his mouth. 

He turned to see Eliott and Lucille dancing a few heads down. At some point, Eliott’s eyes met his. Shadows played on his face as he bounced and spun and shook to the music. _Pretty._ But Lucas pretended not to notice. Before he knew what he was doing, he felt his lips on hers, and before long, she was kissing back. The initial thrill shocked him even though he was reasonably sure he was the one that had just now initiated it. 

He looked up again. Eliott was embracing his woman. The two were completely enwrapt in each other.

 _Right,_ he thought to himself, having been reminded of the task at hand. He pushed forward slightly, causing Chloé to lean back and deepen the kiss. When he glanced up, Eliott’s eyes were steadfastly on him, watching from across the room while he entertained his lips with someone else’s mouth.

Blood drained from Lucas’ face. He felt somewhat embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but glance up again only a few seconds later. Eliott was putting more effort into his actions, kissing filthily. Then, Eliott’s eyes snaked their way back to Lucas, and he raised his eyebrow to him as a devious act, as if to say, “ _you have no idea how I think of you,_ ” or subsequently, _"let me show you."_

And again, Lucas felt his blood rush south. 

But he was pulled away from his dancing partner (whichever that may be) when a group of men in police uniforms tore through the crowd. One tall man with a moustache climbed onto the stage, as the music ceased. 

“This establishment is closed until further notice. We are detaining those who are involved in illicit activities or substances, the rest must leave,” he shouted over the crowd. 

There were a few shrieks as they started making arrests. It was general chaos, as people pushed drunkenly for the exit and others were finishing drinks left behind. Lucas’ head was still turning, he couldn’t think clearly enough to find his friends. He was thankful when someone grabbed his wrist and started to lead him to a back door. 

The cold air felt good on his hot skin. He was completely disorientated. 

“Eliott…” He mumbled, “What’r we doing.” 

Eliott smiled back at him. _It was an Eliott smile._ A big bright one as though he’d made a joke, only he hadn’t. Lucas liked that one.

“You’re drunk. I’m taking you home.”

“No you can’t. Is my birthday. I’m not done with it yeat.” Lucas was having a hard time walking straight without Eliott pulling him along.

“We can celebrate tomorrow.” Eliott stopped to think for a second. He didn’t know where Lucas lived, and his studio was only a few blocks from there. 

Eliott found Lucas’ drunken state utterly amusing. If Lucas wasn’t complaining, he was singing; and he sang the whole way home.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So,,, I was kind of disappointed that I started falling into the canon story plot without much divergence. So next chapter, expect variations!
> 
> Also sorry for the wait! Filler chapters are always more difficult because they further plot more than action, and action of course is far more interesting to write ! 
> 
> Today's Vocabulary~
> 
> “Tu-en veux?”- "Do you want some?"  
> Quelle heure est-il? - What time is it?  
> D’accord - okay
> 
> ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pointed light illuminated the room from the windows making it impossible to sleep any longer. Lucas’ eyes blinked open slowly. _Too much light…_ He wanted to draw his blinds and roll over and return to his dreams. His head was pounding. He didn’t recognize the cream colored walls. In fact, he didn’t recognize anything. 

_God, what happened last night?_

He was swaddled in a duvet, and there was a pillow and blanket thrown across the floor as well, leading him to believe that someone else had slept here with him. He sat up in confusion. Rubbing his eyes, unfortunately didn’t return him to familiar surroundings. 

_How did I get here?_

Hazy memories of entering the club came back to him, as well as alarm when he had to leave… for some reason. He heard someone coming up the steps and opening the door to the room. In a brief state of panic, Lucas jumped up from the couch he was laying on.

The door opened. And finally he understood the vast array of canvasses that littered the edges. 

It was those eyes. And suddenly he remembered the dancing and the disinterest in return for the gaze of another. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” Eliott said, “I wasn’t expecting you up for another hour, so I got us breakfast.”

Lucas’ body shivered as he noticed that he was hardly wearing any clothes. His mouth went dry and his eyes grew wide in terror. 

“Did we…?” 

“Hm?” Eliott followed Lucas’ eyes downward across his body, “Oh, no! No, you - uh, you vomited. Your clothes are hanging in the washroom.” Eliott sat his bag on the floor.

Lucas felt ridiculously naked. He watched Eliott go over to the trunk in the corner and rummage through it. 

“Here,” Eliott handed him a large shirt. It might’ve once been white, but now it was covered in paint that was likely not splattered purposely across the fabric. Lucas didn’t hesitate to pull it over his head. 

Eliott chuckled when the hem nearly reached his knees. “It’s a good look on you.” 

Lucas cracked a smile, “Oh, shut up. At least if I were to be a painter, I would be capable of getting some paint on the canvas instead of pouring it all over myself.” That feeling of natural comfort was flooding back to him.

“I call it a talent.” Eliott shrugged, pulling a croissant from his bag, “ _Tu-en veux?_ ” 

Lucas nodded, “Merci.” 

The two sat and ate like old friends. It was as though his previous feelings of contempt for the man had been flushed down the drain. It was a strange feeling. He, of course, hadn’t forgotten the iciness since their last time spent together, but it no longer sat in the forefront. The truth was, that Eliott made him feel a certain way that he couldn’t easily put into words. There was an easiness between them even though Eliott basically gave Lucas heart palpitations when he looked at him.

He had never felt this way for anyone, not truly, and for a man no less! It terrified him. He was not, and never would be, like Mika. But part of him always sort of suspected that this was how he was meant to be.

And not to mention that Eliott seemed to express that for someone else, a woman. Lucas didn’t know what the future held for him, but he knew that he wanted Eliott to have some part of it, in any capacity he could. So long as they didn’t discuss their relationship, he could live with their current standing.

The events of the night before didn’t cross their conversation until Eliott described how amusing drunk Lucas was. To which Lucas’ cheeks went red. 

“Well, if I could remember anything about last night, I’m sure I’d have something interesting to tell you about yourself as well.”

Eliott’s eyes shined at him, “How much do you remember of last night?”

“I remember going in…”

Eliott laughed.

“...and I remember dancing poorly.” There was, of course, more that he now recalled, but he didn’t want to discuss it all with him. The weight of Eliott’s gaze laid heavily upon Lucas. He looked perfectly disheveled. His trousers were casual and dark-brown colored, while his button down was cream colored and half undone which salaciously revealed his part of his undershirt. His hair was long enough in the front for it to get somewhat curly, making him look like he habitually had just rolled out of bed.

“A birthday boy may dance as poorly as he wishes.” 

Eliott glanced at the clock, “oh putain, I’ve got a shift in a half hour. Can I walk you home?” 

“No, no it’s alright. I’m fine, really. But I’ll walk with you most of the way.” 

Eliott flashed that Duchenne smile, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

  
  


Lucas had almost completely forgotten about Hemingway, he brought it up and they talked about the book the whole way. It was fun to see Eliott get visibly excited to talk to someone about it. They exchanged ideas and debated the symbolism. 

Eliott thought that the notably androgynous characteristics of the main love interest was a not-so-subtle nod to homosexuality. And that the lead lusted over this woman, but ultimately couldn’t pleasure her was a comment on the social stigma against the homosexuals. It was all fascinating. The fact that Hemingway had the gall to write on behalf of taboo topics such as these, proved him progressive. And the fact that Eliott read it and discussed them naturally without hesitance proved him progressive too. 

After that conversation reached its natural end, there was a bit of silence. 

“Hey, I wanted to say thank you for last night. I don’t usually go overboard like that, but it’s good to know that someone’s looking out for me.” Lucas said

“It is no problem. I know that you would’ve done it for me. And I had a good time... despite the circumstances.” Eliott laughed. 

“Yeah me too…” Before he knew what he was saying, Lucas said, “You and Lucille look really happy together.” He cringed at himself for bringing it up. 

A serious cloud passed over Eliott. “Actually, we’ve been on the rocks lately.” 

“Oh…” He couldn’t help but smile inwardly, “I’m sorry to hear that…”

“Thank you, but it’s been shaky for quite a while. It seems like anything will set her off… and plus she’s so controlling… I don’t need to bore you with the details. I just don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying with her… but anyways, you and Chloé seem to be moving fast.” 

“Too fast for me, apparently” Lucas smiled, “yeah, she’s a handful. I don’t think I’m terribly interested in pursuing her anymore. I think I might be looking for something else.”

“Like what?” Eliott threw him a look that lingered almost intensely.

“I don’t know,” Lucas blushed. He looked up to Eliott, in a fit of rebellion, “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  
  


After a moment or two, Lucas realized they had stopped walking. This is where they’d part.

There was an awkward pause, as though they were waiting for something to happen. 

  
  


“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” Eliott said rather lamely, but he made no attempt to move away from Lucas.

“Yeah… thanks again.”

They stood for a second, basically foot to foot in the morning mist. Eliott was a whole head taller than him, but that didn’t stop Lucas from giving him a look like he expected something from him.

Eliott inched closer, but they were interrupted by an angry American shouting for Eliott to come start his shift.

 _“Putain,_ “ he muttered to himself. “Yes! I’m coming!” He started walking towards the shop when he turned to Lucas, “See you!” 

Lucas simply watched him bound off into the store. Eliott, as always, left him with a flutter in his stomach and countless words that had not yet been said. 

  
  


___________________

  
  
  


Lucas lugged himself up the three flights of stairs. As nice as the breakfast was, the alcohol had run its course through his body, but it had left his mind hazy. He didn’t realize his headache until he got home. 

“And where are you slinking back from in last night’s clothes?” Mika crooned, “did your lady friend give you a nice birthday present?” 

“God, don’t be vulgar, Mika.” 

“Come on, Lulu! Tell us a story! What happened to you last night?”

“I… slept at Arthur's. It was closer. What about you? I don’t remember even seeing you after eleven.” He was quick to change the topic.

“Well, you told me not to be vulgar, so I don’t think you would very much like to hear about my evening.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. He did not have the energy to deal with this. When did he ever?

He left them to clean himself up. He knew that the gang would be slung over the couch at Arthur’s place, each nursing their own throbbing headache, so he made that his next destination. 

  
  


When he got there, the door was open so he let himself in. Everyone in the area seemed to know Arthur, and they knew that he had nothing worth stealing, so keeping his door unlocked, while accidental, wouldn’t prove a liability. It was a shoddy little place. It had one main room, which counted as a living room and a kitchen, and two bedrooms. Lucas had never met his roommate, and Arthur never spoke of him. 

His friends were more or less exactly where he expected them to be. All two windows had closed blinds, giving the room not more than dim light. Yann groaned from the floor, he must have been awakened by the sound of the door opening.

“Long night?” Lucas smirked. 

“Stop talking.” Arthur moaned into the couch cushion. 

Basile was fast asleep, clutching a small pillow to his stomach.

“I’ve brought you lunch… or breakfast. I’ll put a pot of coffee on too.” 

Yann started to pull himself together enough to sit up. He put his hand to his head. 

“Quelle heure est-il?” 

“It’s about one.” 

“Putain… my mom will be wondering where I am.” 

“She can wonder for a bit longer. I’m not sure you’re ready to go anywhere.” 

Lucas had brought each a brioche and a cup of coffee and set it all on the little table before the couch. They all sat around and ate relatively quietly. Lucas couldn’t help but smirk a bit at their current states. Bas seemed the worse off, but he was also one to get the brunt of it after only a drink or two. Arthur, with his blonde hair sticking out every which way, was staring into oblivion and enjoying his meal. Bas had basically shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

“Jesus, you guys look like hell. How much did you drink?”

“I feel like it, mec.”

“I don’t remember, but my head feels like it’s been wrung out, so probably too much.”

“Probably, yeah.” Lucas agreed, “How did you guys make it home like this?”

“Sheer will-power,” Bas whispered into his coffee.

Lucas laughed, “Good morning.” 

“And you?” Yann looked towards him, “you kind of disappeared on us last night.”

“Oh shit, yeah you did!” Basile said intently, with the passion as though he had been mulling it over in his head for hours and he just wanted answers!

“I was… I was with Chloé.” 

_Shit, that’s going to come back to bite me,_ he said.

“Ooh, did you take her back to your place?” Arthur asked.

“No, it wasn’t like that. I just walked her home.” 

“Lucas, I saw you last night, you were in no condition to be walking, let alone guiding someone else!”

Lucas shrugged. 

He didn’t know why he kept lying like this. Why couldn’t he just say he slept at Eliott’s? Nothing happened, after all. It just felt sort of private, even though he had nothing to hide. 

Lucas thought back on the memories he had from that morning. Despite his splitting headache, and perhaps sudden fear that he woke up alone in an unfamiliar place, there was something very ethereal about it. There were no worries.

“What are you grinning about?” Lucas had just realized that Arthur had been watching him for a moment. Now, the others turned their heads to him as well. 

“I just had a nice evening.” He smiled at them, “thank you all for making it happen.”

“Well, if you’d go out drinking with us more often, I guarantee you’ll have more nice evenings.” Bas said.

“And even _better_ mornings!” interjected Arthur.

The four laughed it off, but Yann’s suspicious gaze didn’t leave him for another moment. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The next few days weren’t much easier. They all had one day off a week, and Lucas hadn’t spent much of it to himself. He woke up tired and didn’t feel like seeing people today. At least the walk had been pleasant. 

Lucas sat down next to Yann who still wore a skeptical expression. People were starting to filter in, but they were the only two who were sat and ready.

“Are you alright?” Yann looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been… strange.”

_Please, don’t ask._

Lucas just looked at him. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about Eliott, and he definitely did _not_ want to talk about how deeply he let one man affect his life. He liked the gang because all talk was surface level. He didn’t have to be happy to be with them and he didn’t have to explain himself. He liked that they talked about everything and nothing at the same time.

“I’ve just… It’s just been a rough few weeks, but there’s nothing to worry about.” 

Yann looked at him and sighed, “well I know we work together, but I consider us to be friends as well so if you ever want to discuss it, I’m always here for you.”

“Merci," He said, promptly ending the short conversation. But the words wouldn't leave his head until much later.

The next few days, Lucas threw himself into his work. He had so much to go on, and his boss had eaten up the piece about Hemingway. Aside from a few distractions from his friends and Chloé attempting conversation once or twice, he was completely focused on the clacking of the typewriter. He only noticed that his wrists were aching when it was time to go home. In fact, his whole body ached. 

As he put on his coat, he noticed something firm in his breast pocket. He pulled out both _Candide_ and _The Sun Also Rises_. They were both small enough that he had forgotten that slipped them in a week ago, in the hopes of returning them.

Arthur placed a hand on Lucas’ shoulder, “Are you ready?”

Lucas was confused.

“You said you’d grab a drink...”

He’d totally forgotten, “Oh putain, yes I’ll join you but I have to do something first. Where are you going?”

“The one on _Rue de Maubeuge_.” 

“ _D’accord_ , I’ll meet you there in a bit.” 

He hurried off down the street. 

Arthur stood with his arms crossed over him. “Do you think he’ll come?”

“Who knows anymore. Come on, let’s go,” Yann shook his head.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deviance ! YES ! I swear it will be saucy next time I alread y hve it planned
> 
> Today's Vocabulary~
> 
> “C’etait chaud, non?” - it's cool, right ? (I think I said 'bumpin' last time both work)  
> Carrement - totally (literally translates; squarely. Don't ask me, the french are weird)  
> “Vas-y doucement avec la bière cette fois-ci.” - "go easy on the beers this time."

His brief conversation with Yann rolled around in his head. Yann was right, afterall. Lucas was acting weird, and he knew full well the cause. There was so much that Lucas needed to discover about himself, and despite his reason for coming here, he’d put it all on hold in pursuit of fame. Now, it was time to come to grips with it. 

He wanted to be with Eliott.

He didn’t know his boundaries yet, but he knew, at his most selfish, fundamental desires, that he wanted to be with Eliott and he didn’t want him to see Lucille anymore. 

His face paled at the thought. Lucas stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. He knew his friends would ostracize him and his family would probably never seek to speak with him again. Even Mika would likely laugh at him. And above all, they all knew what happened to Oscar Wilde and people like him. His career was shattered. And it’s plausible that there are countless others who have been blown out of the public eye for similar reasons.

Was it worth it?

_No, it can’t be this way,_ he clenched his fists. He didn’t know if he could handle it, the weight of his identity and the fact that it would hinder his dreams.

Lucas made his way to Mark-Paul’s stand. It was a nice evening considering the season. The sharp wind had abated to a cool air, and the sky even had a sort of blue tint today. There was still snow on the ground but it had turned to slush where it had often been treaded on. He had long since gotten used to his feet being rarely dry, and it didn’t bother him any longer.

“Lucas, my boy! I missed you last week. Your writing finally taken off?”

“No, sadly, I’m still working on it.” Lucas smiled and pulled the book out of his pocket along with the paper. He handed it to Mark-Paul who huffed happily at the sight. 

_What a happy man._

“What’ll it be this week?” 

“Actually, I’m just here to return the book… and to give you this.” Lucas pushed a few centimes into the old man’s leathered hands. The man looked confusedly at him.

“I couldn’t possibly accept it!”

“No, I insist. I want you to have it. I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t shown me such kindness.”

He looked down at the coins. It was not more than enough for a small meal or two, but it was what Lucas could afford to give him. He hadn’t planned on giving him anything upon walking up to him, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Are you going somewhere?” 

Lucas thought for a second. “Yes, I plan on leaving soon… For America, I think.” The idea had just crept up on him. When he said this, it sounded absurd but the longer he let it sit in the air, the more the idea interested him. There was nothing for him here, he should have realized this sooner. 

Mark-Paul patted him on the shoulder with a sad smile. “Well, I’m very sad to see you go. You’re my best customer, you know.” 

Lucas smiled at this. _But I never pay him._

“Yes, I’m sad to leave you.”

Mark-Paul took his hand in his and shook it firmly. Lucas knew it was earnest, but he didn’t know the extent to which he might’ve affected the man, as the man likely didn’t know the extent to which he had affected Lucas.

They spoke for a moment longer before Lucas turned to enter the bookstore. He sighed to himself when he stepped onto the doorstep, and then pushed inside. It was packed. There must’ve been fifty people crammed into the narrow space. The light inside was dimmer than usual. He shoved his way to the counter. 

“Where is Eliott?”

The thin girl pointed to the main room where most of the people were congregating. Sure enough, Eliott was at the front of it, on the riser which was only a step taller than the rest of the floor. The small stage was lit brighter than the rest of the shop to focus the attention to the speaker.

“Madames et Monsieurs, welcome to tonight’s event.” He announced loudly in English. “I am your host, Eliott Demaury, since Shakespeare and Co.’s wonderful founder, Sylvia could not make it. I have the pleasure of introducing our guest who has surely changed the course of literature with his accounts of American wealth and affairs... “

Behind him, also on the stage sat two figures, sitting quietly in throne-like chairs. One was a tall spindly man in a pressed pinstripe suit, and beside him, adorned in seemingly any crystal she could find, sat a woman. Lucas thought her garb perhaps the height of fashion. The pair looked far too wealthy to be finding themselves in this area. The woman wrapped her arms possessively around his bicep. 

“... Please help me welcome Francis Scott Fitzgerald!” 

People started clapping, the man stood up, offered a hand to acknowledge the applause. He clapped Eliott on the shoulder as they traded places. 

“Merci à tous,” He said with an awful American accent, “thank you so much for joining us tonight, it truly warms my heart to see all of you here… and to those who entered expected to peacefully shop for books, I am terribly sorry!”

The crowd stifled a few laughs. The author continued speaking about the disparity of wealth and the privilege of adventure. It was an interesting chat, but Lucas found himself scanning the crowd. Eliott stood himself off to the side along the wall. He watched the speaker intently. 

Lucas made his way to him. Upon entering, his plan was to tell Eliott the truth. He would’ve been emotionally protected under the ruse of leaving Paris, so, when Eliott ultimately laughed in his face, he would have a plan. But now, seeing him so enrapt in the events of the evening, he couldn’t bear to do that now.

_Maybe I shouldn’t say anything to him. Perhaps it would be easier to just leave._

But then Eliott smiled back at him as if to say “ _this is great, no?_ ” but also “ _I’m glad you’re here,_ ” and Lucas felt his cheeks burn. He knew he couldn’t leave without goodbye. It would likely shatter him. 

The words of the author in front of him floated over his head, as hard as he tried to hold onto them, his mind always wandered. At some point, the audience erupted in applause, Lucas, snapping back from his thoughts joined in the clapping.

Fitzgerald said his final thanks and Eliott jumped onto the stage. He was dressed, as usual, in his rather bohemian style, the kind without regard for social rules or regulation.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming tonight. We would be nothing without you and we appreciate your participation and patronage. Please give another round of applause for Mr. Fitzgerald!” The crowd hollered and some whistled, “The store will be open for another hour, so feel free to stay and look around. Thank you all again. Have a wonderful evening.”

Eliott gave himself a nod as if confirming that he’s said everything he wanted and then bounded off to stop face to face with Lucas.

“Hello,” Eliott smiled. 

“Hello.” 

Eliott glanced around the room. Some people were milling about the shelves, but most had filtered out. The place returned to its usual level of relaxed intimacy.

_“C’etait chaud, non?”_

_“Carrement._ I’m glad I caught it.”

“Yes,” his attention turned back to Lucas, beaming, “me too.” 

Eliott was so good at looking as though he’d just blown in with a casual spontaneity. His hair was getting a bit long and it suited him beautifully, like everything.

“I think some people are going to go have a drink. Would you care to join me?”

The way Eliott looked at him… well, one might get the wrong idea. It was that familiar feeling that Lucas was the only thing that mattered.

“I would like that very much.” 

  
  
  
  


______________

  
  
  
  


They walked a little to a bar in the Latin Quarter, and Eliott raved the whole way. He spoke of nothing but Fitzgerald and the wild, lavish parties of America, and Lucas was content to listen. He talked about how the problems of the poor are often based in survival, while the problems of the rich are often more psychological, and how interesting that whole notion was to him. 

After a few minutes of his rambling, Eliott stopped himself and glanced at Lucas.

“Oh I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent, I’m terribly sorry.”

“No- no, it’s quite alright! It’s nice to hear someone so passionate.”

They walked in silence for a moment. The night was chilly, but the coldest air had broken a weak ago, and Paris was starting to head towards spring.

“Why do you like American authors so much?” Lucas asked. It was a question he’d had on his mind for ages. Afterall, most readers interest themselves with the works of their own origin, so then why was Eliott different?

Eliott kept his eyes to the ground. They walked closely together.

“I don’t know.” He said, thinking, “I guess I like the modernity of it, the directness. American authors discuss things that are not often discussed, it's fascinating. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see New York, and I suppose reading about it makes me feel like I’m already there.”

_New York,_ Lucas thought remembering the news that he was planning on giving him, _what a chance notion._

  
  


They arrived at the bar. It was a little place with a red exterior and a gold accent. It was lively upon entering, not so like the jazz club last week, more there was laughing and drinking and jolliness all around. It was more friendly than rowdy. 

The waiters were well dressed, and flitting around here and there. This was not a dinky little place. It was perhaps the fanciest bar Lucas had been to upon coming here. Eliott did not bolt ahead of him like last time, he kept close and made sure that Lucas was behind him. 

“Eliott, there you are! Come on over here,” a familiar voice bellowed. The boys pushed their way across the crowd where Hemingway wrapt Eliott in a great bear-hug, when he noticed Lucas. 

“And Lucien!”

“It’s Lucas.” Eliott corrected. Lucas nodded, happy be called anything. He was not as nervous as he would’ve expected himself to be, rather he was giddy and excited.

“Please forgive me! I got into the booze a little early this evening.”

“And when don’t you, Ernest!” A woman laughed.

Lucas recognized the woman. She was the blond woman on the stage, the one who didn’t speak. 

“Zelda, dear, this is a party after all! A party to celebrate the success of your husband, why shouldn’t the wine flow?” Hemingway exclaimed cheerfully. 

“Speaking of which, where is Francis?” Eliott intervened. 

Zelda looked around, “I couldn’t say… I should go find him.” She excused herself and disappeared into the sea of people. 

The three were left just looking at each other for a moment.

“I read your book,” Lucas said with a smile.

“Really! Dare I ask what you thought of it?”

“I really loved it. The way of writing… it is very clever, and it was great how you described the pain of the characters.”

Eliott laid a hand on Lucas’ shoulder, and leaned in slightly, giving him goosebumps, “I’m going to go get a drink.” Lucas nodded, trying not to appear flustered. He turned back to the author.

“I’m glad you liked it, my boy. Any character you may have enjoyed in that book was based off of someone in Paris. I’ll tell you, here, I’ve met all walks of life; people I never would’ve dreamed of in the U.S. people are a lot more open to any lifestyle, I think and that, my friend, is a blessing!” He raised his glass to himself, realizing that Lucas was empty handed, and then took a sip.

“Your Eliott… he’s something else, isn’t he?” Hemingway mused with a playful edge.

_My Eliott…_

Then he continued, “There is seemingly nothing that kid can’t do.”

“Yeah… he’s really wonderful.” 

Hemingway eyed him, “How long have you known each other?” 

It was a bit strange to have shifted the conversation to something so inconsequential as their relationship, but nonetheless, Lucas did not want to bother the man with talk of his work, if he did not wish to speak about it. Hemingway seemed a curious man and their association seemed to pique his interest.

“Not long at all! I really do not know him that well. And you?”

“I met him at his place of work a few months ago. We had a fascinating conversation about the impact and legitimacy of international authors as tourists. Which is a fitting subject for an international author such as myself who acts also as a tourist. He always has something fascinating to say, that is certain!”

He stopped himself to observe Lucas for a moment, who was hanging off of every word he said. Everything Hemingway recounted about his friend only confirmed what he already knew.

“...but I don’t need to tell you this, you two seem to have gotten to be fast friends.” 

Lucas paled a little.

“Yes, I-”

“Ah, speak of the devil!” 

Eliott approached the pair with three beers, “I hope it was nothing too bad.” he smiled.

“Absolutely not! We were just discussing our first meeting.”

“It was not such an interesting story, as I remember.” Eliott looked at Lucas sternly, “ _Vas-y doucement avec la bière cette fois-ci_.”

Lucas rolled his eyes, but he was secretly pleased that he cared.

“On the contrary,” Hemingway continued, “I found the talk very compelling, and it isn’t the French way to strike up a conversation with a stranger.”

Eliott shrugged, “I think there is something to learn from everyone if you just ask.” 

_How casually poetic he is._

Lucas thought he might write a sonnet on the man. Everything about him was just stunning, aside from his physical beauty, he really seemed to understand people… or when he didn’t, he tried to. And that was priceless. 

He liked that Eliott always wore one item of clothing that clearly wasn’t his size, but he made it look so effortlessly made for him. And the way his hair fell onto the corners of his face when it wasn’t slicked back, he never failed to notice. Most of all, the sharp features of his face and the slight hook of his nose, and the way that his eyes lit up when he looked at Lucas, it was all brilliant.

And Lucas realized he was completely besotted with the man. 

“Lucas?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, what are we talking about?”

“We were just discussing maybe if you wanted to interview some of these people for your newspaper. It’s completely up to you, of course.”

Lucas’ eyes went wide, “and you are sure it would not be a bother?” 

“Of course not, my boy! I’m sure they would be thrilled to get more attention,” Hemingway laughed.

Lucas smiled, “Yes, thank you! That would be amazing.”

The three laughed for a while before Lucas was introduced to more artists and writers and even a singer or two. They were all so different and fascinating, he could hardly keep track. One thing was for certain, he felt to be at the very center of Paris’ creative soul and he could hardly take his eyes off of the man who had brought him there.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will he leave Paris? Will he confess his feelings to Eliott? How will he deal with being not straight during a period when it was largely frowned on?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SooOo again , took me a while. Sorry ! (Surprisingly) lots of things have come up. Here's a whole lot of fluff and a bit of 👀
> 
> Give me your thoughts ! I love to hear from you
> 
> Today's vocabulary~
> 
> Désolé - sorry  
> C'est bon - it's fine  
> T'es beau - you're beautiful  
> Je peux? - can I?  
> Ne bouges pas - don't move  
> T’es sérieux? - are you serious?

And it was magical. It seemed as though every creative man (and woman) in Paris had stopped in at one point or another. Lucas was charmed by anyone who would talk to him. He even talked with someone, an old Irishman, who had personally known Oscar Wilde as his friend and publisher. Lucas thought of Mika and how he’d be clawing to get an afternoon with this man. 

The moon rose quickly and Lucas and Eliott were some of the last to leave the bar. Neither were too drunk. Afterall, Lucas didn’t want a repeat of last time. No, he wanted to fully experience anything having to do with Eliott. 

At this moment, Lucas was a bit delirious from tiredness, in a particularly giddy way. Considering he had woken up early for work that morning, he had now been awake for nearly twenty hours. The alcohol and constant social activity (as much as he had loved it) did nothing to aid. Now, he was passed tired. His body lagged but his mind was whizzing with new ideas. He was talking Eliott’s ear off about what Fitzgerald had told him about New York and every time Lucas looked to him in conversation, Eliott met his excited gaze with a fondness. 

He was so tired and so enrapt in his talk, that Lucas failed to notice that they were heading to Eliott’s studio until they’d arrived. 

“Oh.” He said, immediatly feeling stupid. Eliott looked at him with his mouth closed, with an expression of complete interest. “Uh. Thank you so much for tonight, it was one of the best in my life. Seriously.” 

“Me too. Thank you for coming with me, I don’t like to go to those things alone, and it’s nice that you have something in common with those people,” Eliott smiled. 

Lucas blushed. “Yes, well… thanks again.” He nodded and turned to leave when Eliott caught his shoulder.

“You’re not walking home, are you? It’s much too late, you should stay here.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

Eliott looked at him as though it were obvious. Like,  _ really? You? _

“You could never be a burden to me.” 

Lucas melted. He needed to tell Eliott. He needed to tell Eliott what he couldn’t earlier, about moving, and about his feelings for him. Lucas couldn’t go on like this, with these... _ flirtations,  _ and come out a sane man without Eliott knowing. It needed to end.

He looked down at his shoes, trying to find the words, before he brought his gaze up.

“Eliott, I-” He swallowed even though his throat was dry.  _ This is it, _ he thought. “I can’t…”

Eliott looked at him confusedly.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but … I find myself attracted to you. I don’t want any trouble and I’m sorry if that disgusts you, but I wanted you to know.”

Lucas was trying to pick his words very carefully. He wanted to make it easy for Eliott to leave, hopefully without getting into an altercation. Lucas had seen how people like him were treated and he didn’t want to be out in the open if he could help it, but he also didn’t want to hide anymore, not from him.

Eliott’s expression was hard to read. His brows were knitted together, not out of anger, but confusion. And then his features relaxed as though he had come to a serious conclusion. Eliott licked his lips, about to say something gut-wrenching, no doubt.

Eliott smiled as though he’d just make a joke in his head.

“I think you should come inside.” 

  
  


Lucas was somewhat frightened, given Eliott’s lack of response. He was waiting to see some sort of anger or fear, and a very small part of him wanted to hear that Eliott felt the same. But none of that came. _ I think you should come inside, _ could mean anything. Eliott could be leading him on to beat him to death, afterall, he didn’t actually know him very well and he was much taller.

Lucas’ head stopped spinning when Eliott held out a hand to him and smiled. It was warm. It was clear that in that moment, everything was going to be okay. 

He took his hand and Eliott led him up the stairs and didn’t let go until he’d opened the door. When they got in, Eliott shrugged off his jacket and his cap and tossed them on the couch, not taking his eyes off of Lucas.

Eliott sighed, looking upon him earnestly. 

“I do not find you disgusting.” He stepped closer, “I find you… “ he was looking for a word, “fascinating.”

He held Lucas’ hand and turned it up. Looking down at it, Eliott ran his free fingers along Lucas’ palm. It was surprisingly sensitive, and strongly intimate. Lucas couldn’t help but stare at him, and after a moment, Eliott stared back.

Lucas was starting to feel the weight of it all. He was ready to find comfort in this life. This all was ludicrous that he had to put his life on hold in order to follow his dream. He didn’t hesitate another second to push forward, let his arms hang off of Eliott’s shoulders and kiss the man.

It was strange at first and perhaps a little out of sync. Despite the obvious affinity, Eliott had not expected this so soon. But nonetheless, he welcomed it and they pressed forward.

Lucas had only ever kissed girls before. He’d never felt the roughness of a man’s cheek pressed against his own, or so deeply inhaled someone who smelled so pointedly masculine. Eliott’s lips were soft and his tongue was yielding and it was easy to lose himself in this kind of thing.

Eliott pulled apart. 

“Will you stay with me?” he asked hopefully, “you don’t have to… but I want you to.”

He’d always known that Eliott was a great beauty. It was shocking to him that a man of such intellect and prowess would ever want him to stay the night. Eliott was a prized husband, who seemed happy with his woman.  _ Why would he ever choose this life? _

This felt too good to be true. Although, at this point, Lucas was willing to get hurt if it meant that he could spend time with him.

He nodded with a dazzling smile which Eliott returned a second later. The room was dim, lit by one small lamp in the middle of the room. This made it feel much smaller than Lucas remembered, but not claustrophobic, just more close. 

They stood there, in the middle of the dark room embracing each other. It was tender at first, and Lucas almost shed tears of happiness. He could not remember the last time he was touched like that by another human being, certainly never one of the male sex. It was new and invigorating. He thought,  _ how could I have ever doubted this? _

Eliott wrapped himself around Lucas, grinning as he kissed him (which proved less-than-practical for this kind of endearment, but was thrilling nonetheless). He had to bend his shoulders over to reach him, cupping Lucas’ face in his hands. 

Eliott guided the two to the couch, but the movements were awkward and uncalculated. In their attempted smoothness, Lucas knocked over a pail, splattering its contents across the floor. 

“ _ Putain! Désolé _ .” He scrambled to start cleaning the puddle with a nearby paint rag. 

“C’est bon, it’s just paint water. We can worry about that later.” Eliott laughed, laying himself longways on the couch.

Lucas smiled at him sheepishly, and got up to join him. Eliott wasted no time settling in with him. 

A shiver brushed over Lucas when Eliott pushed his hand under the hem of his shirt and ran his fingers over his skin, just to get the feel of it. It was electric. He seemed to understand every sensitive spot on Lucas’ torso and back. He unbuttoned himself so that Eliott could have better access. 

It was then that Lucas realized just how much he’d craved this. All of this. It was as though a piece of him had not been unlocked until now and it was exhilarating. 

He knew he was onto something when Lucas’ breath hitched while he kissed and Eliott glazed over a susceptive area. Soon enough, Lucas started to paw at the buttons on Eliott’s shirt. 

Eliott paused. He sat up, again not leaving the other’s eyes, and pulled apart the fabric covering his chest and let it drop to the floor. Lucas ran his hands across Eliott’s chest. As Eliott knelt down over him, resuming his work, Lucas looked at his lips and his body and whispered, “ _ T'es beau _ .”

Eliott grinned at him, planting a chaste kiss on his lips, then another less chaste one on his chin, then another below his ear (surprisingly sensitive) and another and another until he looked up to meet his eyes, his face hovering above Lucas’ navel. 

“ _ Je peux? _ ”

  
  


________________

  
  
  


Lucas awoke late in the day. The sun, as always, shone through the marvelous windows on the far side of the room and there was a peaceful air to the place, a sort of satiated laziness. It was snowing outside and the calmness seemed to seep in through the glass.

“ _ Ne bouges pas _ ,” Eliott said quietly from the middle of the room. Lucas hadn’t even noticed him until he spoke up. His body was hidden behind a massive canvas a meter or two away, of which Lucas could only see the back. 

“How long have you been awake?” Lucas mumbled.

“A while. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.” 

Lucas rubbed his eye, then quickly put his hand down when Eliott playfully hissed at him. 

“Did you get breakfast?” 

“You’d be lucky to make lunch! Plus I didn’t want you to wake up alone... like last time.”

Lucas looked at him thoughtfully. He liked to watch Eliott at work, even if all he could see was the top of his head bob occasionally to glance at Lucas and then duck down to focus on the painting. 

“What are you smiling at? You’re ruining my picture.”

“You’re cute when you’re focussed.” Lucas tried. After not getting a result he joked, “You’re right no smiling allowed. I’ll try harder.”

Eliott smiled at him. They stayed a while longer just witnessing each other while Eliott painted.

“When do I get to see it?” Lucas chided.

“Do you want to?” 

Lucas nodded. 

Eliott made a motion with his head that said _ well, come here then.  _

Lucas let the blanket fall from his lap, he was less ashamed of his nakedness now with their current standing (the exact title of which he was still unsure), though he still tugged on his under-shorts. He sat behind Eliott draping his upper body over the man. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to see. It was truly stunning. The colors were warm and saturated making it all look lively and serene all at the same time. His proportions were vaguely elongated like a Schiele portrait giving it a slightly unrealistic edge, but it was beautiful in it’s own way and at no fault to the artist, for that was the purpose.  _ Even imperfections are beautiful. Even ugliness.  _

But the face, Lord that face. It was  _ him. _ It was Lucas all over. And he beamed at the beauty that Eliott gave him. He’d reddened the tip of his nose, the apples of his cheeks and his lips like Innocence. And the way that Eliott had his body splayed, dozing, as it was, on the couch, it was hardly finished but well, it was all beautiful. 

“The trouble is,” Eliott looked at the painting, “ the more you mix the colors, the more muted they become. Getting the perfect hue is difficult because once you’ve got it, you’re often left with a dull tint. Sometimes it’s best to leave them as they are and to not care so deeply and focus so intently on the precisity of it, so that the colors may remain alive and vibrant.” 

Lucas was not finished marvelling at the work.

“I can only afford the basics, so I have to make do with what I have. Painting you isn’t easy. One can learn to capture the color of someone, but the spirit? That’s entirely different.”

“Eliott, it’s - “ Lucas laughed, unable to find the right word. _ Stunning, elegant, captivating. _

Eliott looked at him, “it’s you.”

Lucas blushed. He wanted to deny such a compliment but Eliott’s eyes on him forced him to keep it. Instead, he pressed his chest into Eliott’s back and knelt his chin on his shoulder. The winter outside did not feel so cold when he had a body to drape himself on.

“Will you take it when I’m finished?”

Lucas was stunned, “No, I couldn’t, that’s too much.”

“Well I won’t sell it.” 

“Maybe you should keep it.” Lucas kissed his neck, “So I’ll be here with you, even when I’m not.” 

It was a swirl of reds and pinks and yellows and oranges, and it made him feel like summer was upon him. It was a sunrise in the snow, he couldn’t stop looking at it. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave.” 

There was a pause. Lucas didn’t know if he was serious or not, until he turned to him. Then, as though he’d never said anything at all, “would you like to try?” 

“Try what, painting?” 

Eliott turned to him again, this time with a smile and a paintbrush. Lucas took it, having suddenly forgotten how he would hold any utensil. The two practically switched places. He hung on Lucas, caressing, pointing, and guiding his next brush stroke, while Lucas sat in his lap. Lucas tried his hand at painting the couch in the background. There was nowhere to lean his hand for precision, not that an old sofa required much, but it was something to get used to. 

When he deemed himself finished, he sat back and laughed. His couch looked like a child’s painting, but it was perfect to lead the eye to the magnificent foreground. 

“You’ll euh … you’ll get it next time.”

Lucas turned to straddle him. Eliott hadn’t taken the smock, so he had a few swatches of paint on nearly every limb. This didn’t phase Lucas.

“How kind of you to put it that way,” he laughed. “Maybe I should practice more.” He brushed out the remaining paint on his brush on Eliott’s cheek. 

“ _ T’es sérieux? _ ”

Eliott dipped his fingers on the wet palette and splattered it across Lucas’ chest. To retaliate, Lucas found his hand in the pail of paint water, which was more paint than water at this point and dyed smudges of Eliott’s torso a ruddy red. 

Eliott pulled Lucas’ in as they started feverishly kissing each other. In no time, Lucas found his tongue in Eliott’s mouth or vice versa, he really couldn’t tell anymore, and his hands sinking lower until they graced the waistband of Eliott’s trunks. He couldn’t slip out of the garment without uprooting their whole situation, because this was something that the previous night wasn’t, this was hunger. 

Lucas got up to help Eliott out of the confounding shorts and removed his own as well. He remained there and kissed Eliott’s thigh, surly leaving a mark in his wake. Lucas kissed his tip, and began to pleasure him with his mouth. He had never done this before, but he listened for Eliott’s breathless moans and imagined what he would enjoy having done to him. Eliott started to leak with precum and Lucas knew to stop. 

Eliott was breathing heavily, sad at the pause. But Lucas loved to see the redness of his cheeks when he was aroused. He wasted no time remounting himself upon Eliott, who was now laying back on the floor.

Lucas made a short hiss upon being entered and then the pain vanished and was swept up in something far more pleasurable. He made slow, sultry movements, rocking himself and his partner. Eliott held onto him at the thighs, as he panted and gazed directly at him. 

Lucas laughed at the amorphous blob of color on Eliott’s belly from just a few moments ago. It felt good. Not just the sex, but the comfort of it all. 

The rocking turned into something more wild, as the two grunted lustfully together in rhythm. Eliott kept hitting that place inside him. That place that was like candy in your mouth but you felt it throughout the body. That place that made him melt.

Lucas leaned over and licked a filthy stripe as high on Eliott as he could make it, causing him to groan and sputter in the process. 

“ _ Putain, Lucas !  _ ” 

He smelled like sweat and paint. It was dirty and thrilling and he wouldn’t have had it anyother way. Eliott stared at him in amazement, mouth open, as he bucked into Lucas.

Watching Eliott in his most unravelled state made Lucas lose his mind. 

They swung together, getting louder and louder until Lucas spilled onto him. He groaned as he fought his way through a crushing orgasm to get Eliott off as well, which came only a few seconds later.

He dismounted and fell to the ground in a heap next to Eliott, who, despite the mess, wrapped him in his arms once again. Waves of pleasure still crashing through his veins. 

_ That was incredible. _

“You better fucking keep that painting,” was all Lucas could say.

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry it took so long. This project is getting to be a lot longer than I originally expected it to be. I might end it early. It doesn't help that this is a sort of filler chapter for Lucas to pick up the pieces. ANYWAYS my dad got me re into minecraft so thats why this one took so long. Next few will be longer chapters and take less time to get out. 
> 
> Today's Vocab~  
> Lèves-toi - get out of bed  
> C'est l'heure - it's time  
> te souviens? - remember?  
> Fermes ta bouche! - shut up! (literally: close your mouth!)  
> “Ton coloc est drôle.” - "your roommate is funny."

They stayed together til early evening, falling in and out of bed, Eliott would paint while Lucas read. Eventually they left to get something to eat and came back. When it was finally time to say goodbye, Lucas found it surprisingly difficult. He didn’t know how next time would be with Eliott, or if there would even be a next time. 

Lucas had been so lonely for so long that part of him craved the attention that Eliott gave to him, and part of him feared it. He could not be so independent as he once prided himself on being. 

Eliott kissed him a few times before he let him walk out the door. Lucas turned to him from the doorway and gave him one more happy glance before skipping down the stairs. As he yanked the front door open, his heart stopped. There stood Lucille frozen with her key in one hand, about to unlock from the very same door that had just been opened. Her face was red and twisted, as if she’d been crying or absurdly enraged, and it only scrunched up further upon seeing Lucas. Her hair was half tended to and laid mostly in a mess around her neck. He could only imagine what he looked like as well.

She cleared her throat and stood up straighter, to seem more dignified no doubt, and offered him a polite smile which he couldn’t will himself to return. 

“Is Eliott here?” She smiled condescendingly.

Lucas nodded. He stepped aside and held the door for her. She sharply walked past him and stamped up the narrow staircase, grasping her skirts in her hands. 

He couldn’t move. Did she know? Had he not told her? There were about a hundred different times he wanted to ask about Lucille but he always decided against it. He trusted Eliott to handle his own relationships.

By the time Lucas came to his senses, she had already disappeared up the stairs. 

The air was sharp and icy. It was the kind of day that made you want to crawl into bed and never crawl out. It was _cold_ cold but he’d hardly noticed having been so wrapped up in Eliott. The walk home wasn’t so long with all the thoughts that were clouding his head. He smiled when he thought back on the last twelve hours. It had all been so sweet. 

Lucas had had a brilliant time out, but he was happy to enter his own building. All the familiar smells and sounds of his worn down flat complex were somehow inviting, he’d made his home in them. Better yet, he had absolutely no expectations for how the rest of the day would go. No plans, nor ambitions. The evening was his to do with what he pleased. 

He sunk deep into his mattress and swaddled himself in his blanket. Lucas hadn’t slept well the night before, between seeing sleep as the sun rose, sharing a space that could hardly fit one, and waking earlier than he would’ve liked to, his body was tired. Lucas’ dreams that night were nonsensical and wonderous, with Eliott making an appearance more than once. 

  
  
  


He woke up with a smile on his face and genuine excitement for the day to begin. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this way. Lucas got himself dressed, taking extra care. He put some grease in his hair that he saved for special occasions. He looked in the mirror and felt proud of himself. 

It was early, he had time to wander the city instead of his usual hurried walk. The sun hadn’t risen yet. He knocked happily on Mika’s door.

“ _Lèves-toi, Mika! C’est l’heure!_ ” 

Lucas could hear rustling around in the room past the door, and then a loud _thunk._ After a few minutes the door opened, and Mika peaked out. His long hair was in complete disarray, and he was holding a washcloth to his groin. He’d clearly just been awoken.

“Did you just fall out of bed?” Lucas smiled, having finally gotten the better of him.

“Lucas… “ Mika rubbed his eye, “what the hell are you doing awake at this hour? I’m supposed to be the one who bothers you in the morning, _te_ _souviens_?” 

“Yes, but I thought I’d give you the same gift for once.” 

Mika grunted, still waking up. “It’s unnatural to see you this happy.”

“Yes well- I thought I’d return the favor but I must go off to work.” Lucas gave him a short nod and started down the hall.

“We’re talking about this when you get back!” 

And Lucas didn’t mind it. The walk to work was kinder to him than it had been. Sunlight had started to peak over the skyline, and the cafés were starting to set their seats out for the day to come. Paris was waking up and Lucas felt like he was living in a secret hour before the streets would grow busy with people. His thoughts were mused with tales of America, and the high rises of the city. More and more lately, it had occupied his mind, becoming just another riddle he would need to figure out. It had become somewhat of a quiet obsession to him.

He peacefully sat down at his station with his cup of coffee. The gang came in with their usual morning excitement. Basile was laughing about something or another, Lucas only caught the end of it. But their enthusiasm faded when they came face to face with him.

“ _Salut les gars_.” Lucas offered.

“Hey… what happened to you last night?” Yann asked with a cold sort of edge.

Only then did it dawn on him that he had made plans and completely forgotten about them. 

“Oh putain, I’m so sorry. I got swept up the other night. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Swept up in what?” Bas asked.

“I… had to go see someone. It was important.” He couldn’t think of anything better to substitute, and Lucas could only imagine what they would do if he told them the truth.

Yann nodded and took his seat, not necessarily sated with that answer, but not willing to hear anything else. 

Lucas had blown them off in one way or another on multiple occasions in the last few weeks. They had grown rather tired of it. He could feel their disappointment and desperately wanted to fix it. 

Afterall, they were his only friends in this entire city (save Eliott and his new acquaintances,) and he didn’t want to ruin that. The problem was that he had a very limited amount of spare time and dividing it evenly and also keeping time to himself was near impossible.

And he had to keep it divided, because his relationship with Eliott was not something he could very well advertise. Lucas had even been disgusted by himself at the beginning, but he’d learned to live with it, learned to enjoy it (and he did enjoy it very much). But he could never be like Mika. He could never be like all those famous poets and writers. He didn’t want his personal life splashed across the front page of some far-off news paper. 

He knew that he’d become distant to his friends and he felt sorry for it all the same, but he couldn’t see any other sort of way through this. 

Chloé sat down in her usual spot, but not before she shot Lucas an icy glare. He was confused.

“We invited her for drinks, thinking that you might have graced us with your presence. We thought if she came, you’d be likely to show up too. She stayed after we all left, I have no idea how long she was there…”

Lucas looked at Yann. He didn’t need a guilt trip right now, he had his own personal crisis to deal with. But his anger faded when Yann was calm and firm. Lucas knew he had been wrong.

“I don’t know what troubles you have been dealt, but know that you can always talk to me. I’m sure that offer stands with anyone here.”

“Yann, I’m fine really.”

Yann eyed him for a moment then sighed and turned back to his work. He was tired of this. “If that were true then that simply means you’ve grown weary of our friendship.” 

Lucas could not believe what he had just heard. It stabbed him, but only, he realised, because it was true. Not that he’d grown sick of his friends, but how it must look to all them. He couldn’t seem to put in any sort of effort into anything that wasn’t his work or Eliott.

“I’m sorry. I’m dealing with it.” This was all so screwed up. “And I do appreciate your friendship, I… there’s just… I’m dealing with it. I just need some time.”

Yann pressed his lips into a straight line, like he was unhappy with the outcome but he wasn’t going to press further. 

They didn’t speak for the rest of the day aside from exchanging necessary phrases for work. Lucas felt farther removed than he ever had. It was a not so unfamiliar feeling to him, but unwelcomed even so. It felt quiet that afternoon.

When they were starting to pick up to leave Lucas caught them.

“Wait, I know I haven’t been the best friend to you guys lately, but let me buy you a drink to make it up to you.” 

The gang exchanged glances. Bas tried to hold back a smile.

“Will you be there to buy the drinks?” Arthur asked, joking at his expense.

Lucas rolled his eyes but smiled, “Yes.” 

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, “Good man! Welcome back.” And with that the four of them turned and went through the door as though nothing had happened. Basile walked him down the street, occasionally asking him about his past few weeks, until it was his turn to fold down the alleyway with an “ _à_ _demain!_ ”

As always, when he was left with silence from Basile, he missed his incessant chattering immediately. It was sweet and he’d missed it entirely. 

It was a few days before Lucas had seen or heard anything about Eliott, he’d even visited Shakespeare & Co. to check on him. It was strange for a night like that and then complete silence following. He asked the girl behind the counter if she knew about his whereabouts, and she said that he hadn’t shown up in a few days. 

This struck him as strange and he hoped that Eliott wasn’t simply avoiding him. He wasn’t too worried about it, but if a week goes by and no word, he might seek harder.

It occupied his mind, but he always turned back to waking up in his studio and the warmth he felt. Despite these few days with Eliott’s absence, he’d been leaving work everyday feeling good about himself. His boss was absolutely thrilled with the new section, and there was rumor of a promotion in his future. 

One afternoon, however, he reached his door after work and he was confused to see it slightly open.

Lucas cautiously pushed the door open and saw Eliott sitting on the bed and Mika so close that he was nearly sat on top of him, they were chatting and discussing some important concept. He was happy to see Eliott but also bewildered.

“Lulu! It’s so good you’re home! This very handsome man and I were just discussing high fashion, a fascinating conversation, really. He came to me as I was walking into the building and he was asking about you, so I let him in. Well, I’ll leave you two to do… whatever it is you do,” Mika suggestively raised his eyebrow at Lucas, “but before I leave, Lucas, can I see you in the hall for just a second?”

He stood and led Lucas by the shoulder into the hall, closing the door behind him. 

“What is it?” Lucas said rather impatiently.

Mika gave him a knowing smile, “I see you, you dog! Send him to my room when you’re done with him.”

“You have the absolute wrong idea and I-”

“Is he the reason you were so excited this morning?” Mika’s eyes lit up.

“ _Fermes ta bouche!_ ” He hissed, “we’ll speak later, just… stop talking!”

Lucas was _not_ interested in giving Mika a peak into his personal life. Not this, not yet. He was also not interested in Eliott hearing Mika’s ravings and insinuating that he was a prostitute.

Lucas swiftly let himself into his room and closed the door behind him, ceasing any more potential for conversation between him and Mika. 

_“Ton coloc est drôle.”_

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” 

Eliott scoffed and smiled brightly looking at Lucas. He rested a hand on Lucas’ neck, not hesitating to pull him into a kiss. It startled him and he glanced at the door, making sure he had really closed it.

“I had a great time the other night.” 

Lucas grinned, “so did I.” He was thrilled that Eliott hadn’t pretended to have forgotten. (One of his theories of the nature of Eliott’s absence.)

“I’d like to see you again.”

“Anytime you’d like.”

He smiled again and kissed Lucas, deeper this time. 

“I’ve told Lucille,” he whispered between breaths. “She and I are finished.”

This was it. This made it real. He’d broken up with his girlfriend for Lucas. There was no going back. And there was no doubt that Lucas was now courting a man (even though they could never marry under a court of law, they could do the next best thing). It was serious. 

  
  


And it terrified him.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday ! Sorry for the wait. 
> 
> Vocab ~  
> "Personne ne lira ceci" - "No one is going to read this"  
> Qu'est-il arrivé? - What happened?  
> “T’as dormi bien?” - "Did you sleep well?"

The city was opening up before him. Spirits were returning to the streets. The atmosphere was still somewhat bleak upon first glance, but it was different now. Somehow more poetic. He had spent so much time willing Paris to share it’s secrets, to inspire him, but instead it was he who needed to find Paris. Sometimes he thought back to what Eliott had said to him about the dullness of color. It was easy to get one’s dreams muddied. People must keep it light, play it by ear, not expect a golden path to unfurl before them. One must make his own path and be adaptable when the plan falls apart. 

He felt wiser, not only towards the secrets of life, but he felt wiser towards himself. 

The two hadn’t discussed their options, but Lucas knew that he would have to tell someone eventually. He decided Mika would probably be the best choice. He couldn’t deny him anything, but he would likely be annoying about it. 

He had to. He had to tell someone, otherwise what he had with Eliott was not real. How could he be expected to be a decent lover if it was kept a secret?

His palms were sweating as he stood outside Mika’s door. Lucas willed himself to knock, but his body made no movement.

_This is stupid_ , he thought, _why am I so nervous? This is Mika, we’re talking about._

He knocked, after a few moments the door opened. His tenetmate was confused to see him there. Lucas rarely made a point of seeking him out, he usually preferred to keep to himself. 

“Lucas? Is everything alright?” 

“Yes” Lucas smiled to himself slightly, “but I wanted to talk with you… is this a good time?”

“Of course!” 

Mika straightened up his sofa for them both to sit down. His room was larger than Lucas’ and more decorated. 

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.” His hands were shaking and he pleaded with himself to pull it together.

They went sometime without talking while the kettle started to whistle. It was as though Mika understood the importance of his nervousness and wanted to provide his full attention and advice. This only built it up in Lucas’ head, but he waited until the tea had been poured and his neighbor was situated. 

“So, I uh… “ Lucas cleared his throat as Mika sipped his tea, “that man that you met and I… we are… um. We are seeing each other.”

Mika’s eyebrows shot up, but he smiled, “Lucas, that’s wonderful. Are you happy?”

Lucas grinned, he couldn’t help it, “yes, I am. But I wanted to ask you how you cope with it.”

“Cope with what?”

“You know…” Lucas shifted uncomfortably, “being a homosexual when it’s an unpopular thing to be.”

“Well, yes, it can be difficult. Finding like-minded people always helps, but I’m comfortable that I have more than that to offer. I am more than who I sleep with.”

“I’m just worried with… you know, my career and the response that might cause. I’m just not like you.”

Mika paused, “What does that mean?”

“I’m not going to go out and scream it from the rooftops like you do, _some_ people can, but I can’t. It’s not my personality.”

“No, of course it’s not your personality,” Mika glared at him in disgust, “it’s your blood. _Some_ people who are confident in themselves enough, angry enough, not to be oppressed into silence again, those are the strongest people. They will fight for themselves till their dying breath and they fight for you. So you should be grateful to _some_ people.” 

“Mika, I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant. I think that maybe you should take a long walk and try to figure out who you want to be.” He got up to open the door, signaling his time to leave.

“I didn’t mean any offense.” Lucas said in one last attempt to soothe things.

“Of course you didn’t.”

Lucas left him. That could’ve gone better to say the least. Lucas kicked himself for pissing off the only person who could help him with his problem. He would formally apologize at a later date. 

Sleep did not come easily to him the next few nights. This was strange considering his friends were talking to him again, his lover loved him, and Mika would surely come around. Lucas still had so much left to discover about himself. For all the time he’d spent with guidance and instruction, he’d excelled, but when that privilege passed, he was lost. Maybe he wasn’t as creative as he thought he was. 

All that he knew was that Mika was right. He wasn’t as confident in himself as he could be. Lucas would have to learn to fight for what he believed in instead of just laying low. Eliott would likely say the same. 

_Eliott~_

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, knowing that he would better himself if not for the sake of self-development, then for it would be for Eliott.

  
  
  
  


_______________________

  
  
  
  


He decided he not as happy as he could be, and he realized this half-way through typing up a piece for the paper. The piece was about recent tourism in the country-side, and he noticed his own displeasure at the thought of doing exactly what he was doing. 

_Personne ne lira ceci,_ he thought. 

No, Lucas wanted to excite and stimulate whomever took time to read his work, and evidently he did not have a lot of opportunity to do so here. This job was only holding him back.

Before he knew what he was doing, he marched into Veron’s office and gave his resignation. His boss pleaded with him to stay and even offered him a raise, to which Lucas responded “I should’ve been offered that ages ago.” He would work through the end of the week, and then he would be gone.

Lucas felt this final weight lift off his shoulders but he continued through the day showing the extent of his abilities which were so clearly lost on this little paper. He couldn’t bear to tell his friends. Not yet. 

So he took them out for drinks. It was a beautiful night and they all knew that they would be catatonic in the morning, but they didn’t care. They had a laugh. It was the most he’d laughed in a long time. They were into their fourth round when the talk started to shift towards women.

“So… Emma?” Arthur bounced his raised up and down as if putting some sort of obnoxious suggestion into his two word question.

“No, my friend, we are THROUGH!” Yann said with more force than he likely intended.

“Ah, _putain_ what happened?” 

Yann shrugged, “She was moving too fast for me. I couldn’t give her what she wanted… and I may have cheated on her.”

The boys booed. 

“That’ll do it. That’ll do it.” Arthur nodded.

Bas _mmhmmed_ in agreement. He could barely keep his eyes open, it would have been surprising if he was actually cognizant of the situation. 

“What about Chloé?” Yann said, turning to Lucas, “has she shown you where she lays?”

Lucas shook his head, “Fuck Chloé.” 

“Woah! _Qu'est-il arrivé_?” 

“She’s just…”

“Nooo, I bet Lucas’s got some beauty held up in his room.” Bas said somewhat intelligibly.

“Well, Chloé isn’t too bad herself, so whoever you have up your sleeve, Lucas, must be a real stunner.”

None of them were too sober, and there were some points where Lucas felt himself swaying in his chair. Which was nothing compared to when he blushed and felt himself smile stupidly. 

“Aha! There is someone else!” Yann shouted. And then Lucas started to get nervous. Through his drunken haze, he realized that this was a turning point for him.

“Well… who d’you think it is?” he tried. 

“No fucking idea.” 

Lucas looked into his cup. He only had a week left if his friends decided to turn on him, he would be leaving soon anyway.

“Er… remember that guy from a few weeks ago… the one that returned my scarf?”

“YES !” Basile interjected.

Yann stared intently at his drink, trying to remember.

“Oh, I remember that. It was a strange moment.”

“Right well… it’s him.” 

“Him what?” Yann looked at him, still vaguely unsteady.

“He’s the one… that I’ve been seeing.”

They were all quiet for a second, trying to process it through copious amounts of alcohol. 

“That’s why I’ve been a bit… removed lately, I think. It’s been sincerely screwing with my mind.”

“Well, what’s his name?” Bas asked.

“Eliott,” The name felt funny on his lips. He’d only uttered this word to the man himself. Lucas was quietly proud of this being the first question.

“How did you meet?”

Lucas thought for a moment. It felt like ages ago. “He insulted me at a book stand.” He laughed to himself, but it was the honest truth.

“You should be writing this down, Basile.” Arthur joked.

“I am not at fault that Lucas can fall into bed with anyone!” 

The boys didn’t hang around much longer. It was getting late, and they would all need to wake up early the next day. They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Lucas could breathe happily knowing that his secret was no longer so closely kept and that it was not the burden he had thought it might be. 

  
  
  
  


He woke up with a headache, that required an immediate bath, but he didn’t mind so much, it had mostly dissipated by the time he entered his workspace. He took to his usual routine: get coffee, sit down, remove scarf.

It wasn’t as early as he usually arrived but it didn’t matter. He sat himself next to Yann, stifled a quiet “ _salut_ ” and realized that his friend hadn’t spoken a word to him since his announcement the night previous.

“ _T’as dormi bien?_ ” He tried breaking the ice.

“Is it true what you said last night?”

Lucas stared ahead. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so trusting to his friends…

“Yes, it’s all true.”

Yann nodded, saying nothing. 

“Are you angry?” 

He opened his mouth to say something when Arthur and Basile sat down at that moment. 

“I’ve never known pain like this, boys, I’ll tell you!” Bas interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Hey, I was thinking… since you and Chloé are incompatible, do you mind if I give it a try?” Arthur asked.

“I wish you the best,” Lucas smiled. He turned to Yann who didn’t say anything. 

_He would come around. Hopefully before I leave..._

  
  
  


On his lunch break, he decided to walk to Shakespeare & Co. He wanted to surprise Eliott with the news and maybe buy him a coffee. Thinking about him made his heart flutter. 

He hadn’t heard from him in a few days, but he wasn’t letting himself worry about it. Lucas wanted to give Eliott any space he might need. Especially because their last meeting had ended a bit weirdly. Eliott had told Lucille and then asked Lucas who he had told. At that moment Lucas had no answer. He’d told no one. This caused Eliott to give him a strange look. 

It wasn’t that Lucas was ashamed of their relationship, it was just new to him. There was no manual for going against the grain of “normal” society. This took time to acclimate. He later regarded telling Mika as a milestone, even though they weren’t exactly close. And then, of course, he ended up telling his friends in slightly drunken confiance. 

Lucas had always admired romance but never been romantic in his relationships. In fact, it sort of disgusted him to be referred to as any sort of pet name. It was a miraculous discovery when he realized it simply disgusted him coming from the lips of a woman. Eliott could call him anything he very well pleased. It was amazing the change in himself that he’d felt after spending a night with a man (technically two but there’s no need to haggle over details,) with whom he’d taken up with. 

During his adolescence, he’d had a few flings. Women had always come easily to him, they seemed to feel safe with him. Little did he know it was because he had no interest in pursuing them. It helped that he had always been attractive and suave. Now that he thought about it, the fact that he hadn’t discovered this aspect of himself sooner was both hilarious and ludicrous to him.

He pushed the wooden door open. Exiting at the same time was Fitzgerald, the author who’d presented his book a few weeks before. Lucas remembered his tall, lanky frame, and when the man’s eyes landed on his, he seemed to share the recognition as well. 

“I say, I seem to know you, but I cannot recall your name.” He said with a smile. 

“Yes, I was here when you discussed your book… and then your party afterwards. I’m Lucas, I adore your work! I’m with Eliott.”

“Ah, yes! Lucas, the writer! My boy, thank you so much for coming. It’s lovely to see you again, and if you need anything at all, or just a chat, please don’t hesitate to give me a ring.” Fitzgerald fished around his breast pocket of his suit, and pulled out a little piece of paper with his name, number, and publishing house information. The author went on his way and left Lucas in the doorway, holding the piece of paper like it was made of gold. 

_This is the entrance ticket._

He secured the note in his wallet, then patted it in his pocket. He ran his fingers through his hair for good measure. 

_I need a haircut,_ he thought to himself.

Lucas went inside. It wasn’t too busy in the middle of a Wednesday. The place looked more or less as it always did, wondrous and filled to the brim with knowledge. He rounded the corner to the checkout counter, wasting no time. And there she was, leaning over the counter in her sequin dress down to her knees. She laughed as she looked suggestively up at Eliott. Her fingers grazed the back of his. The two were bent over the counter musing over something or another, and smiling. It didn’t look like he’d just broken it off. In fact, it looked like the exact opposite. 

The way he was smiling at her... Eliott had smiled that way at him. He thought his heart might break. He hated that Eliott didn't look any less beautiful to him when he was lost in someone else. Lucas couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was like none of this between them had ever happened, like he was never even there. His fingers dug deep into his palms but he didn't even notice. He was just trying to blink back tears.

He turned and swiftly made his exit.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoy sorry this took so long. It's kind of depressing and I just didn't feel like having that in my life the last few days. Also school started up and that did help my motivation to work on this.
> 
> Anyways, sorry for the wait. Please enjoy a nice long chapter.
> 
> French vocab at the end this time

He couldn’t tell if he was closer to tears or to punching a hole in the wall. He  _ knew _ this would happen. Because really, it was only a matter of time. He thought things were going well, but apparently it was not good enough. 

Lucas didn’t return to work that day. He likely would’ve caused a scene anyways with these kinds of thoughts swimming around his head. He didn’t know where to go. Home didn’t feel right to him and he didn’t have anywhere else. Instead, he walked through the  _ Jardin du Luxembourg _ , but found himself disgusted by those who were basking in the beauty of the gardens. Anger wasn’t the right word to describe his current mood. It was some painful combination of rage, fear, and contempt for himself, like some sort of heavy cloud rolled in and blocked anything good and light.

Had Eliott ever really loved him? Or had his interest just stemmed from boredom? Did he even tell Lucille about him? Like,  _ really _ tell her the things they’d done? How sweet it would be to tell her now...

He exited and walked solemnly along the Canal, only contemplating once or twice jumping in. Afterall, what did he have to live for? He was no closer to his goal than he was upon coming to this godforsaken city, he had a few friends but that wasn’t enough for him.  _ I could go back home, _ he discussed this with himself for a minute but he didn’t think he could bear the humility of his failure to his family. 

But between considering these options, thoughts of Eliott flitted through his mind. 

_ What did I do wrong? _ He sat on the bank with his head in his hands, trying to push them down and focus on logic, but ultimately failing.  _ What did I do wrong? _

Lucas perched himself on the bank until the sun sank beyond the buildings. The evening quickly grew chilly but he only noticed when his body started shaking. He supposed the worst thing about all this is that there was absolutely no way to justify what he’d seen. Eliott said he’d taken care of it and that Lucas wouldn’t have to worry about her again, but they must have had different definitions of “taken care of it.” 

He thought of all the people who had let him down in his short time on this earth, none of it ran as deeply as this. Eliott had crawled under his skin and shown Lucas who he was, then he promptly ripped himself away. 

_ Enough! _ He thought to himself, _ there’s only so much self-wallowing I can take, and I’ve met my quota.  _ He was sick of it! His misery had eaten up his entire afternoon and he refused to let it eat anymore. Lucas needed to do something, _ anything, _ to get him away from this place.

Lucas abruptly jumped up from where he’d been sitting, buried his pain, and started marching towards the only travel agency office he could think of. He broke out into a run, however, in the hopes that he could catch it before closing. Dashing through the streets made him feel free with the blood coursing through his veins and the prospect of this spontaneous life-changing decision. 

He was disappointed when he arrived, but he would be back tomorrow. The gate across the door that signified it’s close did little to calm his fierce enthusiasm.  Lucas took a breath. His skin was thrumming with the anger that fueled him and he needed to expel some of that. Everything,  _ everything _ was starting to feel out of his control. He’d lived his whole life letting the wind blow him wherever it thought he needed to be. 

It was a sleepless night. He couldn’t quiet his mind, but it didn’t matter. The minutes passed slowly. Somewhere around early morning, he decided he was bitter towards Eliott. He didn’t want to think about it. Eliott had spent half a day on his mind, and Lucas didn’t want to dignify him by letting him spend a second longer. Instead, his thoughts turned to his family. 

He missed his mother, as controlling as she was. He wondered what she would think of him when he saw her again. How had he changed and was it for the better?

  
  


The second the sun started peak into his room, he got out of bed, not bothering to make it, and headed for town. 

  
  
  
  


_______________________

  
  
  
  


He could smell the city before the boat docked. The imposing green lady stood silently over the water, and greeted them as the ship drew nearer. He smiled at her. 

Lucas had lived many lives but this really felt like the start of something new. He could finally be who he really wanted to be, in a new country, where nobody knew him. This thought scared him a bit, but he was determined to make this chapter of his life a good one. 

He’d saved up a bit of cash but his budget would still be razor thin until he could find something to supplement. New York was so large and so busy that he didn’t know where to start, luckily being trapped on a boat for two weeks crossing the Atlantic gave him plenty of time to figure something out. 

When he stepped off, his feet were happy to find land beneath them. The city air was pungent, as cities often are, but it was different than Paris, it was a new kind of stink, and Lucas was happy for it. The streets were unknown to him, and the buildings far unlike anything from Paris. Even the fashions were strange to him. And in that moment he felt like a foreigner, but it didn’t bother him. He knew in his heart that this city would grow on him, or more likely yet, he would grow on this city.

Gripped tightly between his fingers, was the card that Fitzgerald had given him. By now, it was ragged and worn from Lucas’ constant fiddling, so tattered in fact, that most of the ink had worn off. But it didn’t matter, because Lucas had memorized its address weeks ago. 

The sidewalks were littered with peddlers and merchants, selling anything one could want. He smiled at the newness of it. All walks of life lived here. 

After wondering for hours and haphazardly asking for directions once or twice, (and getting answers in neither French nor English,) he stumbled on the doorstep of the address. It was a high rise building, and far taller than any he’d ever seen. The windows were ugly and plain, and looked just like the hundreds of others on the same building. There was a plaque on the doorpost indicating what sat on each floor, and Fitzgerald’s publisher laid on the 43rd floor. He’d never been in a building with more than twelve.

Lucas didn’t know what to expect when he pushed open the doors. The floors of the lobby were polished and perhaps once elegant, but they had grown dusty. There was a lady behind the counter who smiled politely as he crossed the room. There was a door leading to a staircase, but somehow climbing 43 flights of stairs didn’t suit him.

There were two other obvious doorways. Within the two moving platforms continuously moved, one lifted the platforms up the shaft, and one brought them down. Lucas looked nervously at the one going up. 

“Go on, it’s perfectly safe.” The woman said.

He’d heard about these things, he knew that he was supposed to hop on and ride it till he got to his destination. Despite his better judgement, he jumped in and felt immediatly stupid for his hesitation. It was a strange feeling, being shot up to the top of a sky-scraper. (Not that it went particularly fast, but it was a new experience for him so it felt like he would be hurled through the roof at any moment.)

When came his turn, he carefully stepped off onto the carpet, as the landing he had previously stood on disappeared to the floors above. He’d never seen anything like it. 

_ That wasn’t so bad, _ he thought to himself. Whatever else this city could possibly throw at him, he was ready for it. He thought of how Bas would’ve reacted to the new fangled contraptions of America, he likely would’ve gotten his shoe caught in the door or something and then an aching set into his heart. He did miss his friends.

_ Do they think about me? I wonder how their lives have changed without me… _

He was met with another woman at a desk, but this one was far younger and evidently, fashion-forward. She wore dark eye makeup and her hair a tightly cropped bob that framed her face.

“Hello, my name is Lucas Lallemant, I am looking for a job… Mr. Fitzgerald said that I could find a place here…”

The girl beamed, “Oh! Certainly, we can find a place for you if Francis sent you. Fresh off the boat, sugar?” 

Lucas only understood most of what this woman said but based on her reaction, she could help him. He knew the words she spoke individually, but together, he had no idea.

“Euh yes, I think so.” His English would need to improve greatly if he was to work here.

She laughed, “Yes, I do think we can spot you in. I’m Mary.” She stood and held out a hand to him, he shook it. He knew this custom!

She came around the desk and addressed him directly.

“This way, Mr. Lallemant am I saying that correctly?”

Lucas nodded and followed her into the main room. The office space was massive. An entire wall was adorned in window glace, but there was no sort of ornament in the place. No one seemed to care. The room was bustling with gentlemen in suits with expensive looking hats who were clucking away at their typewriters or organizing papers into folders.

Mary led him to a side room and knocked.

“Mr. Schuster? I have a young man here to see you.”

“Come in, Mary.”

“Mr. Schuster, sorry to bother you, but this here is Lucas Lallemant, a friend of Mr. Fitzgerald’s.”

“Nice to meet you, son, any friend of Francis is a friend of mine! Please take a seat.” The man smiled, “How may I help you?” 

  
  
  


_______________________

  
  
  
  


Lucas settled into life as an American. The first two nights he’d stayed in a hotel, which if he was being honest, was not the cleanest, but he stayed up most of those nights resting his chin on the window that hardly opened, to breathe the air as a new man, and to witness the lights in wonder that shimmered somewhere beneath him. 

After that, he’d found a little tenement which sat a few blocks down the road. It was hardly luxurious and only a fraction larger than his place in Paris, but there was a large Italian family that he shared a wall with, and they refused to let him go to bed without a nice supper. 

Even better still, there was a little market place that was open most days, where he’d buy his food for cheap and make friends while doing it. The Battery Park Library was about a fifteen minute hike west, and he oftentimes found himself there late at night, reading anything to improve his English. Sometimes someone would even strike up a conversation with him. 

What he discovered was that most Americans were very interested in being amicable. It didn’t seem to matter to them if you were great friends, or you had never met, but if there was something to talk about, there would be talk. On the street, he was unlikely to find the same kindnesses that he would in a public building, or any building for that matter. It was very strange to him.

One night, while he was pouring over some books, he felt the gaze of the man sitting at a nearby table. He almost hadn’t noticed. The man smiled at knowingly at him, and then went back to what he was doing. All Lucas could do was blush, but after a few moments longer, the man came up to his table, pointed at the seat across from him and whispered, “Is this seat taken?” 

Lucas smiled and said, “No, it’s yours.” 

The man looked at him with interest, “Your accent is strange… Where are you from?” The man was young, perhaps a year or two younger than Lucas. He was dressed very well for being in the part of town that he was. But the best part about him that Lucas could tell, were his big brown eyes, that reminded him of a captivated puppy.

“France, I just moved here this past week.”

“France! I’ve always heard the most amazing things! I’ve never been, of course, but someday I’d like to.”

“Maybe, I’ll show you France, but only if you show me New York.” It was bold of him, but the people didn’t make such a fuss of propriety, that much was certain. 

The man smiled again with new found delight, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

That night passed quickly, as the man, Garrett his name was, showed Lucas all of New York that they could see on the way to his apartment, where they ate and drank and after one vaguely drunken flirtation, made by Garrett, they slept together. He was unlike Eliott in nearly every way, but Lucas still found himself very much attracted to the man. He was not so tentative, but hungry in a way that one with little passion would act. It was no love connection, but he thoroughly enjoyed the casualness of the encounter and went home the next day with content. 

And again his view of the world was refreshed. He had so much to learn from this city.

  
  


His job was getting easier too. For the first week or so they had him sorting manuscripts into piles. It was simple enough work, and it meant that he got to look at real, professional works of future literature. Sometimes he would sneak glances over the text just to see what the publishers were looking for and while he wouldn’t understand it in the context of the story, sometimes he caught himself thinking of a line or two long after he’d read it. 

They started to promote him as his english improved drastically, and soon enough he was doing revision work which came with a handsome raise and a lot of effort. He was happy to do it. 

Lucas went to the shops to buy himself some new clothes. He wasn’t exactly fashion-savvy, so he just asked himself what Mika would’ve worn and bought it. For the first time in his adult life, he felt put together, even perhaps desirable.

Three weeks into his job, he wrote to Fitzgerald in Paris, in his best English to say Thank You, and tell him about his life in America and asked the company for his address. He also wrote to his family to catch them up on all recent events. He left out Eliott in the story. Lucas decided he was insignificant. 

He hadn’t allowed himself to really think about him for weeks. A part of Lucas really did miss the way he touched him. It was a physical ache which made it pointedly worse and harder to suppress. He thought back to that night with fondness, the one where he’d shown Lucas the wonder of Paris both in its citizens and in its culture. 

But he couldn’t forgive what had happened. Eliott had made him feel like the most important person in the world, the one worth the wonders, and then left him feeling so insignificant that he wasn’t even worth the time for an explanation. 

As time went on, Lucas realized that he didn’t regret meeting Eliott. He’d grown into a man he wanted to be and Lucas couldn’t doubt that it was all because of him. Mostly, he just regretted bearing his heart to him as he had. He would never admit it, but it changed his worldview when it came to relationships. 

Either way his life was better now. He moved into a classier place to match his new style and his boss loved him. He’d offered him a side position to translate a few works into French. Life was good and he was finally working towards his dream for a job that he could clearly move through the ranks.

  
  
  
  


He was romancing some guy in his apartment, a man he’d met at the market. It was the perfect end to a hectic day. They’d made dinner together and forgotten to eat it before they made a break for the bedroom. The man was built and beautiful and Lucas was very interested in seeing the rest of him. They had taken their shirts off and Lucas had one hand under the hem of his trousers when there was a knock at the door. 

They ignored it for a moment but then they heard it again. 

“Were you expecting someone?” 

“No.” Lucas got up to see who it was but when he opened the door, he wished he hadn’t.

In that moment it seemed like all the air had been sucked out of the world. He couldn’t speak. All of those memories of pain and regret suddenly flooded back to him as if it hadn’t been two months since the incident.

“ _ Salut _ …”

Eliott stood there, on his door step, waiting for Lucas to respond. He stood with the most serious air that Lucas could ever remember feeling from him. Like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs. 

Lucas realized he was staring and had to fight the urge to shut the door in Eliott’s face. 

“Quest-ce que tu fais-là,” Lucas spat.

Eliott glanced at his feet. It was late in the evening and he looked tired, but not so much a body kind of tired, but a life kind of tired. The man in Lucas’ bedroom had emerged to figure out what was taking so long. 

_“T’as un nouveau ami?”_ Eliott whispered looking at the shirtless man that had just wondered into view.

Lucas turned around to face the guy, realizing that niether of them were properly dressed, but he wasn’t embarressed. He wanted Eliott to see that he’d moved on.

“Ben, I will call you another time, yes? I need to have a word with my… this man.” 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes it’s fine.”

Ben collected his disgarded clothes and kissed Lucas on his way out, then glared at Eliott sensing tension as he pushed passed him to leave. 

_ “Quest-ce que tu fais-là _ ,” Lucas repeated. 

_ “Puis-je entrer?” _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab~
> 
> “Quest-ce que tu fais-là,” - "what are you doing here?"  
> “T’as un nouveau ami?” - "you have a new friend?" ('ami' can mean friend or boyfriend/girlfriend)   
> “Puis-je entrer?” - "May I come in?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow :,) this has been fun. I might write an epilogue because I feel like they need one more ounce of sweetness but for now, here it is! 
> 
> I was thinking this was too sappy but then I watched some of the actual Skam France clips and they run pretty parallel so
> 
> Vocabulary~  
> “Je suis allé te chercher, à ton travail, chez toi” - "I went to look for you, at your work, at your home..."  
> “Personne ne savait où tu étais” - "No one knew where you were"  
> "Bah je suis-là" - "And? I'm here"  
> “Je ne serais qu’une ancre pour toi.” - "I will only be an anchor to you."  
> jamais - never  
> “Je ne veux pas te blesser.” - "I don't want to hurt you."

_“Puis-je entrer?”_

Lucas didn’t say anything. He didn’t really want to talk to him. He’d have been content to never see him again.

_“Je suis allé te chercher, à ton travail, chez toi… Personne ne savait où tu étais.”_

“Okay? _Bah je suis-là_. What do you want?” He felt the anger in his voice but it didn’t matter. He hoped it hurt. 

“ _Putain_ , Lucas! I thought we had something good, and then you just leave without a word!”

“So did I, Eliott! And now I’ve crossed half the world to get away from you, yet here you are.”

Eliott stood dumbfounded, there was pain in his eyes, “What did I do to you?” He seemed earnest in his confusion which only infuriated Lucas more. 

“You really don’t know?” Lucas took a breath in effort to calm himself. 

Eliott looked different. His clothes were dirty, likely due to his journey, but what’s more is that he looked utterly exhausted. His eyes were duller, even when he’d smiled so briefly. 

As much as Lucas wanted to despise Eliott for what happened, his anger belonged in the past. “Why don’t you come in. I’ll put on some coffee,” Lucas sighed. 

He turned inside, not waiting for the man who took his time entering. Lucas went to the kitchen and Eliott solemnly sat himself on the couch. All he had with him was a satchel and a small crate. He felt immediately out of place in Lucas’ living room, like he was tracking mud on a nice carpet.

He couldn’t imagine owning a home like this. One with more than one room and it’s own bathroom which did not necessitate being shared with the tenants down the hall. Despite the fact that the apartment had very little furniture and decor to fill the empty corners, (like the dwellings of one newly finding themselves in the middle class,) it was clear that Lucas had excelled during his time here.

“Your home is nice.” Eliott said as Lucas came out with two steaming cups of coffee. He was trying to ease into the conversation they might have. 

It was true that Eliott had missed him, although it was difficult for him to admit this. Since he was a child he’d always known that he had as much interest in boys as he did in girls, but he pushed it down. It was simply easier to try not to swim against the stream. It helped that there was no shortage of girls that were intrigued by him. Once or twice maybe, there was a boy, but only until he’d moved out of the house had he acted on that part of himself. 

And boy, did he. At first, his courage only allowed him a few drunken kisses, but as he grew older, he grew bolder. But all that had come to a screeching halt when he saw a man with a tattered scarf looking at books across the street from where he was working. 

It was a feeling that only needed a glance to snowball into a sort of infatuation. (The classic tale, he supposed.) Eliott wasn’t afraid to admit that Lucas’ presence had hit him head-on, and little else occupied his mind. It was due to him that his current (at the time) relationship fell apart with Lucille, although truthfully Lucas was only just the straw that broke the camel’s back, but a heavy straw indeed.

Even though Eliott was easily honest with himself with this prospect, he was very poor at expressing his feelings to others. It was likely due to his years of practice in keeping it all locked inside out of fear. This is why he turned to art: to say the things that words couldn’t. 

“Thank you,” Lucas said quietly. “I’m still getting used to it.” 

Eliott couldn’t help but recall that this was his first real cup of coffee in about two weeks, and he was very grateful for it. His journey here had been long and hard, and it didn't help that he didn't know where he would stay or for how long. But it was something he had to do. If he didn't go now, he would spend the rest of his life in deep regret wondering it could've been better.

“Yes, it seems you’ve really moved up in the world since I saw you last…”

Lucas had so many questions for Eliott. _How did he find him? What does want from him? Why was he still with Lucille?_

“Yes… your friend Francis got me the job at his publishing house.” 

“I know,” Eliott took a sip of his coffee. The tension was palpable was they hedged around the inevitably painful conversation they were about to head into. “He told me.”

Eliott pulled out of his pocket a torn corner of a paper and laid it down for Lucas to see. It was Lucas' own handwriting. It was the return address of the envelope that Lucas had sent only about a month prior. Eliott watched his face turn.

_So that’s how he found me! It could only have been this simple._

Eliott continued, “He didn’t want to give it to me. He said that if you wanted me to know then I would know. But then I told him the truth and-”

“And what is the truth that you told him?”

Lucas wanted him to own to his mistake, he wanted him to own up to Lucille.

  
  


“That I’m in love with you.” Eliott looked him dead in the eyes as though it were a fact of nature. 

“Then why didn’t you speak to me for a week? And why were you with Lucille at Shakespeare & Company?”

Eliott sat back with a torn expression.

Lucas continued, “You made it very easy for me to believe that you’d had your fun and then were finished with me, I’m not sure what else you would have liked me to do.” He was trying his best to take a calmer approach but ultimately failing. It was difficult when the issue sat so heavily on his heart. 

Eliott looked at his feet. He didn’t know what to say, or if he could ever make this better. Why had he come here? Why did he think coming back into Lucas' life was anything besides unselfish?

“I know I can never undo what I’ve done, but there’s something that you should know that I never told you… I have a sort of sickness since I was a child, some people refer to it as “artist’s turmoil,” but it’s much more serious than that. It’s as though sometimes I may be ecstatic with a strong lust for life, while during others I may be confounded to my bed with… with death on my mind. It can change in a moment or last weeks in one state. I can’t control it. I’ve seen doctors and they all want to prescribe me pills that just… suppress any kind of feeling.”

Eliott looked at Lucas who hadn’t spoken. His face was unreadable. 

He continued, “Lucille knew this… and she knew how to take advantage of it. When I would make a decision that didn’t suit her, she might have told me that it’s the sickness talking and talk me out of it. She was controlling and knew how to handle me at my weakest. She could get in my head and whisper in my ear. I don’t want to make excuses, but I want you to know what happened… But when I met you- well, it was my longest period of contentedness in a very long time. And I know I have just now likely uprooted your new life by strolling back into it, but I want you to know that everything I have ever felt towards you was real and I don’t regret a second of it.” 

Eliott paused and looked to Lucas who wore an ugly expression. Eliott was not good at this, and he didn’t think that he was making any sort of improvement. It was embarrassing thinking that he could just pop up and ruin Lucas’ life all over again as he so clearly did. 

“Well… I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I thought I could make this better, but clearly it was better left untouched. Thank you for the coffee. I should get on.” Eliott got up and grabbed his overcoat.

“Wait,” Lucas stood. “You’ve only just gotten off the boat. You should stay here tonight.”

“No, I don’t want to burden you.” 

“You could never burden me.” Lucas’ face grew red realizing the words he’d just spoken and what sort of meaning they held. “I’ll make up the couch for you.” 

Lucas left the room, but shortly returned with a comforter and a pillow. 

“Here.” Lucas pulled the blanket over the cushions, “is there anything else I can get you before I sleep?”

“No. I’m great. Thank you,” Eliott forced a brief smile. 

Lucas turned to leave but he felt something stop him. “Eliott… I don’t know what I feel for you right now, but I know that I could have loved you- I did want that,” He didn’t know how to express himself without driving the knife in further, but clearly that wasn’t working. “I also know that I would like to revisit it tomorrow when I’ve gotten my thoughts in order if you’re still here.”

Eliott nodded, this time with a real shadow of a smile, “I would like that.”

“Goodnight,” Lucas said.

“Goodnight.”

  
  
  


___________________  
  
  
  


When Eliott did finally get to sleep, his dream was dark. He was on the ship that had carried him here, but this time there was rain, rain so large it could knock you out, and the sky was purple with lightning that hung stagnantly below the clouds. People on deck were rushing about, seeking shelter until the whole boat capsized and swung belly-up into the sea. 

He was under water, but he had no fear, he was still standing on the boat looking up at the sea floor, gravity had no effect. And from there he was looking up at the roofless buildings of the underwater city. He wondered what kind of people lived here and if they looked and thought like he did. Suddenly Eliott was very aware that he didn’t know anyone. Then he realized there was no one around to know, he saw no other life. But there were lights on in the towers.

  
  
  


It all was very strange and disorientating. When he woke up the next morning, he was very confused but then he saw his trunk and realized where he was… and what he was doing there. He heard Lucas rustling about and smiled to himself. Even if Lucas would never speak to him again after this, Eliott needed him to explain how he felt.

Eliott knew how _he_ felt about all this. There was once or twice during the night, before he slept, that he wanted to throw open the door to the bedroom and hold him again. Obviously, this would not have gone well and he didn’t do this, but he considered it. 

Most of Eliott’s dreams recently had been vividly full of Lucas. It was usually just a blip of his face in passing, in fact Dream Lucas never seemed to notice him at all. He thought about it so often that Eliott accidentally mentioned this string of occurrences in conversation with Fitzgerald, who subsequently asked Eliott what had happened between them that he would have such a starring role in Eliott’s subconscious. Upon hearing the answer, he refused to give Eliott Lucas’ new address. After a bit of coaxing and then a somewhat humiliating proclamation of the extent of Eliott’s interest in Lucas, Fitzgerald handed it to him with his blessing. 

Eliott figured the man might write his next novel based on his life, it was so full of drama. 

Lucas came into the living room dressed and ready for the day. He wore a serious expression, but Eliott could not help but smile a little. Lucas put a kettle on the stove and waited for its whistle before pouring it into a coffee filter and setting the same two piping mugs on the table (after cleaning them, of course). 

He also had trouble sleeping last night. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Eliott. It was easy to look back fondly on the good memories he had, and it was hard (the first time) to let that go. On the other hand Lucas didn’t understand his sickness and wouldn’t be able to help him if he got into one of his ‘dark times.’ What if he will leave again? Lucas didn’t think that he would be able to take that a second time.

Lucas sat down, and just looked at Eliott for a moment. He remembered that face and how he’d missed it underneath all the anger.

He wasted no time getting started, “I think what baffles me the most is why you went back to her in the first place.”

Eliott didn’t know where to start. This wasn’t exactly true to begin with. “Well actually she came to me, nearly the second you left the morning you helped me paint. I guess she saw you on your way out and- and wasn’t happy.”

“You said you told her that we were together.”

“I did tell her,” Eliott said firmly, “but it didn’t… stick with her.”

“What do you mean? She can’t just refuse your parting.”

“I’m not sure you understand how domineering she really is… she had me convinced that I wasn’t capable of loving another, and even if I was, that they wouldn’t want to put up with my… my problems. And when she discovered you, it was like... she told me it wasn’t real, it was just a fling. Which, frankly, was easy to believe because what you and I had, it came on like a whirlwind! It was so fast,” he smiled to himself then took a sip of coffee to try to contain it and then set it down again. “But you left and it was confirmed.”

Lucas glared at him.

“I left because you hadn’t spoken to me in a week and then I saw you with her. I thought you’d tossed me aside.”

“I could never…”

“But you did, didn’t you?”

Eliott felt a pain in his chest. It was more complicated than that. It was clear that Lucille had been making him doubt himself in order to keep him near her. It really was a despicable thing to do. Lucas had shown him that it wasn’t true what Lucille said, all Eliott needed to do was be strong enough to see that, but he’d failed. 

“I suppose I did see her, but I never wanted to toss you aside.”

Eliott got up and pried open the wooden crate that he had brought. It was the painting, but it was wrong. He let his eyes roam over it for a second.

“I don’t hope to change your mind if you’ve already made it up, but I want you to know that I did fight for you. It wasn’t just a fling to me.” He set it up right, leaning against the side of the couch. “I know I feel things differently, but I always thought what we made was extraordinary.”

Lucas stared at the painting. It took him right back to that beautiful morning when the sun shone through the windows and the snow fell to the ground and he was all wrapt up in Eliott.

But there was something different about the image now. There was a large tear through the face that had been haphazardly sewn back together.

“What happened to it?” Lucas whispered. 

Eliott paused, “She found it.” 

Lucas looked horrified. It was true everything Eliott said about Lucille. Not that it was completely her fault, Eliott was a grown man and should learn to trust himself, but she took advantage of someone in a weakened state and it totally disgusted Lucas. 

“I tried to fix it but it’s not the same…” Eliott said quietly, looking rather distastefully at his work before looking up and saying, “I want you to have it.” 

He had taken on a very serious air. His face was still youthful despite the hardness of it. It was difficult to see him like this. He was always so sure of himself, so put together, excitable and interested. This new Eliott, whoever he was, was completely foreign to Lucas. Like he was at the end of his rope.

“Eliott…”

Eliott waved his hand, “I won’t hear it. I will leave it with you and should you decide to get rid of it, I will never know.” He set the image down.

“Eliott, I think you should stay.” Lucas stood and looked at him with wide eyes, he hadn’t intended on the invitation, but in that moment he realized that he had walked out on the love of his life. What happened with Lucille and the sickness, it was all a misunderstanding. It was something that he would have to live with for the rest of his life. “I want you to stay.”

The last month and a half in America had been new and exciting, but he had to admit to himself that something was missing from him. And now that something was standing in front of him, thinking that he could only be a limitation on Lucas, when in truth, he was what had set him free. 

“I made a terrible decision to leave you, but really, I just needed to leave Paris… I know that I want you in my life,” Lucas stated firmly. He knew if he had framed it as a question, Eliott would have refused because he regarded himself as someone who could only do destruction, and afterall, when you care about someone you want the best for them. 

Eliott stared at the floor around them because he knew if he looked at Lucas his emotions might get the better of him. 

_How could he still want me after everything?_

He didn’t know what to do. He knew that he wanted nothing more in this world than to be with Lucas, but he would slow him down. 

_“Lucas… je ne serais qu’une ancre pour toi._ ”

Lucas stepped closer to him. His eyebrows knitted themselves together giving him a stern sort of look.

“ _Jamais_ ,” he whispered across Eliott’s lips. Lucas brought his hand up to caress his lover’s face. Finally, Eliott was breathing in Lucas again after too long. And Eliott had missed his touch and his smell and it made it so much harder to be with him.

“You are no burden to me.” His thumb brushed over his cheekbone, “you have taught me so much about myself and this world.”

Eliott looked onto his face making Lucas smile involuntarily at the connection. Lucas again spoke, “We, both of us, may have our problems, but we will get through them together.”

_“Je ne veux pas te blesser.”_

“You won’t hurt me. And evenso, I would rather be hurt, than not be with you at all.” He looked directly into his eyes, so he knew that he was serious, but instead he saw how stunning Eliott was, even now. Even at his lowest point, he is beautiful both physically and in any other way. Lucas desperately wanted to kiss him but Eliott needed time. 

“Please stay with me,” he cooed. “We can take it slow… little by little. Moment by moment.”

Eliott’s lips folded into a grin as he wrapped his arms around Lucas and drew him in. He couldn’t put into words the happiness he felt. He exhaled a sigh of relief, but it came out as a breathless laugh, which frankly, was quite fitting. _Quelle joie de vivre il se sent._

_“T’es beau quand tu rigoles.”_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T’es beau quand tu rigoles ~ You're beautiful when you laugh
> 
> :)
> 
> Thanks for reading


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vocabulary ~
> 
> “Pour quoi tu dors pas?” - "Why aren't you asleep?"  
> moi aussi - me too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I was going to actually do this, but here's the long awaited Epilogue. Y'all only waited a whole ass month ~sorry~
> 
> Let me know what you think !

There was a lot that they probably should have discussed before Eliott settled in. In the back of his head, Lucas knew this. He knew that he could get hurt again and if that were to happen it might ruin him, but he didn’t want to think about it. Because if he didn’t think about it, in some twisted way, it couldn’t happen. He just wanted Eliott as he’d remembered him. 

And there was so more to distract himself with. The week passed like a dream. Lucas showed Eliott around the parts of the city that he had discovered, and the face that Eliott would make, gawking at the newness, never failed to make Lucas smile. 

Soon enough there was evidence of Eliott in the place, even when he was away. He’d painted art for the walls, and filled the corners with little knick-knacks that made Lucas happy. 

He loved waking up next to him. 

Sometimes at night he would lie awake with Eliott’s arm draped across his chest, wondering how he’d ever managed to convince himself that he didn’t need this. He could’ve cried, he was so happy. It didn’t matter that Eliott had become less certain of himself, or that he wanted to wait a while before truly expressing his love for him. They were taking it slowly, and while Lucas missed the way they’d connected, he was happy just to have that kind of warmth again. 

It didn’t matter. Minute by minute. 

The response turned round and round in his head until he was certain the words would appear on his forehead, “ _that I’m in love with you.” “That I’m in love with you.“ “I’m in love with you.”_

The thing was, Lucas realized, Eliott never had to say that. He showed him in other ways, even in Paris. Paintings are never meant for the model, they’re meant for the painter to look at and look at and look at, until he gets sick of it. And Eliott never got sick of it so much as he preferred the real thing. Because in his mind, no image could describe what he felt for Lucas, words failed him too. 

Perhaps that’s what scared him the most about the whole thing. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to articulate it when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to express what he needed to. So, he showed him Paris. He showed him all of the places that mattered to him, and all of the people too. 

Eliott’s love for him never really wavered. Not truly. It had just come on with a fury that seemed to knock the wind out of him, leaving him breathless. He’d never felt that way for Lucille and perhaps that’s why she was easy to return to. He had nothing to lose with her because he gained nothing. She understood him and that’s all he thought he needed, even if she had twisted him to her favor.

None of that mattered now. Nothing mattered now. 

Eliott stirred in his sleep, and Lucas shifted to accommodate him. 

“ _Pour quoi tu dors pas?_ ” Eliott muttered. 

Lucas couldn’t catch the smile from showing itself on his face. He’d been caught. 

“Just thinking.”

“That’s not good,” Eliott sat up, rubbing his eye. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” Lucas said frankly. He met Eliott’s eyes who was looking up at him. Lucas smiled to show that it was only good things, but that didn’t stop the concern in Eliott’s eyes. He felt guilt for what happened. 

“I remember the moment I knew I wanted you,” Lucas bemused, ”actually I wanted you the second I met you but I didn’t realize that until later. I think the moment I knew was when we were walking to Descartes and you were looking at our city as though you’d never seen anything like it before. I remember in that moment I wanted you to look at me that way.”

Lucas honestly couldn’t believe that he was saying this out loud. It was true, but he had never admitted it before. Not even to himself.

There was a glimmer of amusement on Eliott’s face. “I knew it was you the moment I saw you.”

“So your best idea of a first impression is to insult me,” Lucas laughed.

“No,” Eliott’s face grew more serious. “Our first meeting was not the same.”

Lucas looked at him confusedly. Eliott sat up so that they were at eye level, “It was I think a month since I moved there. I saw you at Mark-Paul’s one day, and I just… knew. But you didn’t see me.”

Lucas’ cheeks went red. That meant that Eliott had seen him months before they first spoke.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I… I couldn’t bring myself to speak to you. I didn’t even know your name,” he looked at him, “but I knew what I wanted.”

Lucas was quiet, so Eliott continued, “I didn’t mean to insult you! To be honest, I just wanted to see you again. I felt like an idiot afterwards, I didn’t mean to disturb you that day.”

“I’m very glad that you disturbed me,” Lucas kissed his cheek.

“It’s strange to think about what might’ve been if I’d never have had the courage to speak to you. I would still be miserable.”

“You never seemed miserable.”

Eliott smiled, “That’s because I was with you.” His smile faded, “but when you would leave, it was like... coldness just descended wherever I was, and some days it was too much. And I don’t mean to say that you were the cause of it all, that’s not true, but I suppose I grew rather dependent on you. I think it was your absence, or maybe your uncertain place in my life that made me want to-”

”Hey! Hey, we don’t have to do this. Not now.” 

Eliott hadn’t realized how choked up he was. His eyes stung. He smiled to acknowledge that his thoughts had run away with him but he was back now. 

“We don’t have to think about what’s happened. We’re here now and the circumstances are behind us. You taught me that.” 

A dazzling sort of smile spread across Eliott’s face, the kind that you couldn’t hold back even if you wanted to. 

“Eliott, I love you.” Lucas looked at him sincerely, “It took me a while to realize it, but I think I’ve always loved you. It doesn’t matter to me that you have an illness that’s hard to control, I want to be there with you through everything… maybe that’s too much for right now. I don’t expect you to say it back, but that’s how I feel.” 

Eliott didn’t know what to say. He’d never felt such love from another person, and it was a lot. He couldn’t find the words to reciprocate to the extent that Lucas had, but he did feel it. In fact, he might have felt it even more. 

His thumb caressed Lucas’ cheek, memorizing the feel of it. He let it roam across his chin and jaw. He even let himself kiss the lips he hadn't tasted in months. 

It was true that he needed time. He didn’t want to feel backed into a corner like he did with Lucille. But this was right. 

Everything about this was right. He just needed to take his time. He kissed him passionately, not because Lucas had said all those things that made him feel so beautiful, but because he wanted to. It felt right.

  
For the first time in his life he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be. 

Eliott smiled to himself, “ _Moi aussi_.”


End file.
